


Suck the Life Out of Me

by Lauralot



Series: Daddy Issues [4]
Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Abusive Relationships, Alternate Universe - Dark, Alternate Universe - Vampire, Blood, Brainwashing, Child Neglect, Dubious Consent, Kidnapping, M/M, Manipulation, Non-Consensual Drug Use, Slavery, Suicidal Thoughts
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-14
Updated: 2016-06-05
Packaged: 2018-05-26 15:03:25
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 8
Words: 22,724
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6244474
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lauralot/pseuds/Lauralot
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>At first it's just Bucky and his sired, Steve.  Their family grows over the years, but always stays perfect.  Bucky sees to that.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. 1732

**Author's Note:**

> In this chapter, Lauralot wrote James and ravenously wrote Steve.

James slowly pulled his fingers from his mouth, drawing in breath. He ached with hunger, the need constant and gnawing at his belly. Sometimes he failed to find food and worried that, if he slept, he’d wake to find his fingers chewed to bloody nubs. Even when he succeeded, he never felt sated for more than half a night. And the longer he spent alone, the harder he was to fill up.

He let the breath out in a long, mournful howl. He’d perfected the sound over the last fortnight. No one would come if he didn’t sound desperate and horrified. No one had come at all in the first nights that he tried; then, he’d sounded too much like a spoiled child shrieking for his mother and father.

That must be what Mama and Papa thought of him too, or else they would have stayed.

James wouldn’t cry until a stranger came close enough to see his eyes. He was beginning to think that crying dried him out and made him hungrier even faster. He shifted his coat, wondering if he ought to turn it inside out to hide the dark stains down the fabric. He could abandon it altogether--the cold wouldn’t hurt him--but then his waistcoat and breeches would soil faster. The well-to-do wouldn’t come for him if they thought he was a beggar’s child. And he couldn’t risk feeding from the beggars; there were so many, and what would they do if they caught him at it? He already had to move from day to day to keep them from growing suspicious.

James took another breath and wailed again.

\--

Steve took a long, clear breath of the city air. He’d finally been cleared ‘safe’ to walk among people once more without the overt fear of losing himself to newborn bloodlust, and he’d taken the excuse to get out of the manor as soon as possible. He’d been stuck indoors for far too much of his life; now he needn’t worry ever again.

He could smell the pollution in the air, the thick cloying fog that sometimes seemed to take certain sections of the city over. He could smell the people walking by, their pulses bouncing in a soft song that called to Steve’s heart, made him linger and sniff the air more than once in want. It got him strange looks, but he didn’t mind. He would never have to mind again, about anything.

Each color, each sensation was enhanced tenfold. It wasn’t overwhelming like it should be; considering Barnes’ medicine had fed him immunities and boost of high octane color in small quantities before turning him, he was used to the sensations. But that didn’t take the magic out of it. Each breath didn’t feel like his heart would shrivel up and die, any longer; he didn’t even need to breathe, anymore. His shoulders were broad, strong, his senses perfected. He could look at any of the humans walking down the street and see their imperfections, their faults, their-

Their biology. They were _prey_ now, and the thought made him shiver. Bucky would be so angry if he killed some random rich gentleman, and the blood bond was still so new that disapproval from Bucky felt like a death sentence, just the notion enough to make his chest squeeze and tighten.

All thoughts of hunger died off when he heard the shriek. It was a shrill, mournful thing, the sound of some child wallowing in its misery. The sound punctured his ears so loudly it almost hurt, but there was a sharp curiosity that led him towards the source of the sound.

He expected a child. Rounding the dirty, grimy little alley, though, produced a scent that would have made his hackles raise, had he had them. His eyes narrowed as he tried to figure out what that scent was, what it meant, what it-

The shrill scream pierced the air again. And the scent made sense. It was the same predatory aura that Bucky held whenever he came home bloody but grinning, his teeth flashing in the night. It was the same smell his room was saturated in the first week he had been turned.

It was _hunger_. But a peculiar hunger, the unique, bestial hunger of a vampire.

A vampire hunting a child. That must be the source of the scream. Sure, they may be predators, but there was something morally offensive about the idea of a vampire taking a child, innocent as it was.

Without waiting to test the scent more, to try and figure out how old, how powerful the vampire was, he ran into the alley, his eyes flicking from side to side, corner to corner.

\--

The man who appeared in the alley was pale, finely dressed, and _big_. That was the most James could see of him, as his eyes were already filling with tears. It was second nature by now to cry as soon as someone came close.

It wasn’t second nature to flinch, but James couldn’t help himself. No one had ever charged at him before. They all came to him slow and wary as if they expected an ambush. This man moved as if he were ready to pounce.

Then the scent of him reached James, and that was the only thing James could think of. He smelled so _good_. There was something strange about it, something almost familiar, but James was too hungry to give it any thought. He could do plenty of thinking about the man’s blood once it was inside his belly. He _needed_ it. His throat ached with the sudden thirst.

James began to sob.

\--

He reached the child, but there was no other predator in the alley with him. Because… The scent traced to the small little body crying and sobbing. The more Steve tasted it, the more it tasted young, small, hungry. Older than him, but nowhere near the age that Barnes had.

A wry smile slowly started to grow on his face as he realized there was no perpetrator about to kill a small child and drain his blood. There was just a child vampire. He didn’t even know those existed, that they could be _made._

He straightened up into a less lithe and dangerous stance, sucking on a canine for a moment before cutting into the sobs, “My child, what’s wrong? Are you lost?”

\--

“I can’t find Mama and Papa,” James said. He was careful to make the words distorted with his tears, but still clear enough to be understood. He had to be quick. The longer this man stayed, the greater the risk that someone would hear them. Or that anyone the man might have been walking with would come and see. All he needed was for the man to kneel down or to pick him up. And then James could eat.

“I’m alone,” he sobbed, scooting closer to the man’s legs.

\--

“Well. We shall have to fix that, won’t we.” The child was clearly hungry, and it was evident in his eyes, in the way his tiny body was tense in ways a human’s would have a hard time maintaining. Was he- Did he not realize that Steve was a vampire, as well? Would he try to feed from him?

He had to hold back a smile.

Instead, he bent low to pull the child towards him, bundling him in his arms. “Well, where’s the last spot you saw them?”

\--

“I--” James couldn’t answer. He couldn’t even bring himself to cry properly, not with this man’s blood so _close_ and so tempting. He needed it so badly it made him dizzy.

James had been drunk before. When his parents realized that they could still consume the foods they’d eaten as humans, they’d given James glass after glass of spirits to see if they would take effect on a vampire. To let him see what he would have done to amuse himself had he ever grown older.

That was what this man’s blood was like. Intoxicating. And James hadn’t even tasted him yet.

“We--I was walking with them,” he murmured. He was nuzzling against the man’s throat. He couldn’t help it.

\--

The boy’s cold little nose was rubbing against his neck. He couldn’t help it; the start of a rumbling laugh rose up for a moment before Steve could push it back down. This little child was funny, adorable. “Well. where were you walking with them, then?” He’d help the child where he could.

\--

“We were going--um--we--” He tensed when the man laughed. The sound reverberated through the man’s broad chest and against James’s body. He was so _big_. He must have so much blood. It was all James could think about.

“I can’t find Mama and Papa,” he whimpered, because it was the only part of the act that he could remember. It was the only thing he could do beyond nuzzling against the man’s throat.

\--

“We’ll find them. In the meantime, are you hungry? You seem rather hungry. I can help, if you need.” He was already certain there was no Mama and no Papa. He was probably just hustling for food.

\--

James froze. He didn’t seem hungry. He couldn’t. No one would think a frightened child cuddling up to them would want to bite. And his stomach wasn’t rumbling. It couldn’t, not anymore. At least, it hadn’t in twenty years.

The haze that the man’s scent had put in his mind was gone instantly. James squirmed, the tears starting up again. “I can’t find Mama!” he insisted. He’d scream. He’d scream as loud as he could. Even if this man knew what he was, no one would believe him. They’d just see a little boy being threatened.

\--

“Where is your Mama? Is she around? I’m certain she wouldn’t mind if you took a small snack. You can bite, if you want.” He’d never done this. He was still so new, and his instincts and senses were amped up as far as they could. High enough that there was a soft, curious ping that washed through his mind, Bucky’s internal presence wondering what got him so excited.

He tried to clear the emotions and overstimulation before he was overwhelmed.

\--

“I don’t know!” No amount of wriggling was freeing him from the man’s arms. “I went to bed and I woke up alone!” It wasn’t what he’d said before, and he shouldn’t be giving this man any more information about himself. What if he was a vampire hunter? Was that why he smelled so good? Was it a trick to lower James’s defenses? If he bit, would he be poisoned?

“I want Mama!” he shouted, kicking at the man.

\--

“So you came out to the alleyway, dressed up in fine clothes in such a dark little alley, and lost your way.” Steve pretended to give a small purse of his lips, as though he was thinking. “Regardless of if your mother is coming, you need to eat. You shouldn’t lure humans like this; it’s dangerous.”

\--

James gave another kick, but it didn’t make any difference. His stomach hurt so badly.

“But I’m hungry,” he whined, laying his head against the man’s shoulder. “I’m so hungry.” It wasn’t his fault that he wasn’t big enough to hunt like vampires were supposed to.

Maybe he could tear out the man’s throat without swallowing any blood. Then he’d be safe. But he’d get even bloodier.

\--

“You can feed from me. I’m giving you permission. Or- I can take you to my home. My maker, he could feed you.” He tightened his hold on the boy.

\--

James went stiff again. Another vampire. He’d never met any other vampires before. Mama and Papa had, but they never let James talk to them. They said their new friends wouldn’t like baby vampires. Then they’d laughed.

He wasn’t even a baby. It wasn’t fair.

What if this vampire wanted to hurt him? Even if he didn’t, what if his sire did?

 _I could drink all his blood_ , James thought. _And then I could get away._

He pressed his mouth against the vampire’s neck, sinking his teeth in.

\--

Steve’s first instinct was to pull away, to hiss and hurt and get away from whatever was near his throat. But he pushed down that urge, instead slowly lifting his chin to let the boy get easier access. It felt good- It was messier than when Bucky fed from him, and a whole lot more benign.

He had enough blood to spare- the kid could take some from him to regain his strength. Straining around the feeling and pressure on his throat, he managed to say stiffly, “You can still come to my sire’s home, if you wish. You will be safe.”

\--

The vampire tasted so good. So much better than any of the humans James had managed to lure since he’d been on his own. His blood even made James feel warmer, although vampires weren’t hot like humans.

He couldn’t remember if Mama’s blood had made him feel warm when he turned. Sometimes she used to give it to him when he was very hungry and there weren’t people around, but she hadn’t done that in so long.

He whimpered at the mention of the vampire’s sire, almost spilling blood from his mouth. He didn’t want to meet any other vampires. What if the next vampire tried to kill him?

\--

“He’ll- Ah- Keep you safe. I’m starting to… To think that you don’t have a mother or father except in your admittedly clever ruses.” Steve started to pull him closer to the lip of the alley, gearing towards pulling the child from his throat. He couldn’t drink too much, and he wasn’t certain that too much vampire blood in the child’s system would do him good.

Who knows what kind of high that would bring him.

\--

“I do so!”

James meant to scream it. He did have a mama and papa and they were better vampires than this man would _ever_ be and he wanted to bite the man’s face and kick him and tear out his throat for insulting James’s family.

But he was tired. The blood made him feel warm and sleepy and almost like he couldn’t be as mad as he should be. His voice came out thin and whiny and not right at all.

\--

“Fine, you did so. But- You truly _are_ lost. You’ll have a better chance at my home.” He paused and pulled the child a little off of his throat so he could wipe at the spilled blood on his neck with a pocket kerchief. “My sire has money and connections. Maybe he can help you find your parents.”

\--

James shook his head. The other vampire wouldn’t help him. He’d probably laugh at James, like Mama and Papa had. Or he’d try to kill him.

But James was so tired. He’d been alone for two weeks and he felt so grimy and sad and all he wanted was to get cleaned up and looked after for a little while. This stupid young vampire wanted to do that. James would let him, and then he could work out a way to escape or kill everyone after.

\--

Steve bundled the child closer. He was looser and wavering- maybe the blood had already made him tipsy. In which case, his stomach must have _really_ shrunk. It was a wonder he wasn’t feral yet. He stepped out of the alley and tried to hide the blood stains that marred the child’s overcoat, partially hiding him in his own frock.

“My name is Steve Rogers. What shall I call you?” He asked softly, once they were back onto the bustling street.

\--

“James.”

Steve Rogers. It wasn’t a name he’d ever heard Mama or Papa say. But Steve seemed newborn, even if he was calmer than James’s parents said he had been when he was new. Maybe that was because Steve was so much older.

James rested his head on Steve’s shoulder again. He was still hungry, but now he was tired. He always got tired when he fed after being so hungry. Mama and Papa hadn’t liked it. They’d called him a nuisance.

Maybe Steve would be different. Maybe.

\--

“James. Don’t worry; we’ll get you bathed, get you some new clothes, and something to eat. I’m sure my sire will love you.” He himself was already finding the child’s charms to be irresistible- the child was adorable, and he felt some innate need to protect him.

He turned down the street, angling his way towards one of the richer districts of the city.


	2. Chapter 2

Their manor in New York could hardly be considered as extravagant as the one back in Europe. There were none of the neo-classical notes that Barnes had carefully cultivated and crafted to push for the perfect public image. No, this manor was far more modest. Even the gardens surrounding it were smaller, the plants paired with the brick of the house much more homely.

It didn’t matter; it was still extravagant to Steve, who had all but grown up in the workhouses. Even before that, he was far below the breadline with his mother.

Him and Bucky were still new to America, and Steve especially had spent the last couple weeks only on the manor’s property, exploring the gardens and the depths of the house. It was larger than anything he had had the fortune to live before. There was none of the despair and melancholy that spread reeking tendrils through the workhouse slums.

As he carried the small child up the path to the front door, he felt a small thrum of pride dance through his breast; this was _his_. This was his and he could show the child that he, too, had been taken in and helped. Bucky would help- his mind told him it was true and each of his instincts screamed in near-worship at the notion.

The child was pliant and dazed in his arms, but he still tried to maneuver him so he could look around if he wished. Considering the child’s clothes, he was probably acquainted to such richness already, but-

Steve wasn’t. He wanted to child to see this.

\--

James wanted to sleep. He still felt warm from Steve’s blood, warm and relaxed. It took everything he had to keep from letting his head droop against Steve’s shoulder as he nodded off. It wasn’t safe to sleep, no matter how nice Steve seemed. Mama and Papa had left him. Why would a stranger be any kinder? Why would he bring another mouth to feed into his home? All it would do was cast more suspicion on him.

Steve was young. And young vampires were always foolish. James felt his eyes sliding shut at the thought. But he forced them open immediately, remembering that Steve had mentioned his sire. An older vampire. One who would know better than to let another vampire in. One who might kill him. Who would certainly cast him out.

Unless the sire was almost as young as Steve. That happened sometimes. Mama had turned Papa the same day that she was turned. But James doubted he’d be so lucky.

“I like your house,” James mumbled, clinging tighter as Steve tried to move him. He had to stay on Steve’s good side if he wanted to have any chance of staying.

\--

“Thank you.” Steve said, and tried to push down another wave of pride. This child… He would be able to smell his emotions. It wouldn’t do to make himself a fool to a _child_.

He stepped inside and closed the front door behind him, glancing around for _someone_ to alert Bucky. He found no one until he went to the dining room, where he set the child on the modest dinner table. It must have been getting nearer to the evening than he thought; one of the servants was setting the table for supper. Her bonnet was slightly askew, like she had hastily put it back on, and there was a peculiar scent attached to her.

Steve suppressed the urge to roll his eyes. “Please alert Mr. Barnes that I have something to show him.” He said to her, tracking the way she straightened up, her own eyes glancing to him and then away again. One of the scars on her neck was raised and livid, broken open, as much as she’d tried to cover it up. He never understood why they tried to hide the scarring. And- There was that smell once more. That _aura_. “Don’t take too long; you’ve seen enough of him today.”

She coughed and looked slightly embarrassed before scuttling off down the hall.

He took his coat off and placed it over a hook in the corner of the room, and then turned his attention back to the younger vampire, flashing him a quick smile. “Are you still hungry?”

\--

James felt a little more awake once Steve set him down. The smell of the maid made him rub at his eyes. She was human. It wasn’t that Mama and Papa had never had humans wait on them, but ever since they became vampires, they liked to stay in hotels and inns so that they were never around the same people for long. This was a house. Were they paying these people to stay quiet, or were they going to eat them?

But if they were going to eat the servants, then they couldn’t be planning to stay for long. People would get suspicious.

He sniffed the air as the woman walked away. It wasn’t just human blood he was smelling. There was another scent he knew. One he smelled in the hotels when his parents had fun with the help.

At least he knew what to expect here, then.

“Yes,” James said. He was hungry. The scent of the lady reminded him, and suddenly he didn’t feel so warm. His stomach was still mostly empty.

\--

Steve gave the child a small dip of the head and left to the kitchen, returning with one of the smaller goblets. He handed it to the child and smiled. “Drink as much as you need. There’s plenty.”

\--

James took the cup and raised it to his lips, sipping quickly. He wanted to stop and savor it, but he needed as much as he could get before the other vampire made him leave.

Over the rim of the goblet, his eyes darted around the room. All the silver and furniture was nice, even nicer than the things Mama and Papa had collected. James wanted to ask how long they’d been here, how many servants they had, and if the blood in the cup belonged to the lady he’d just seen. But he was too busy drinking.

Anyway, no one liked children who asked too many questions.

\--

Steve let him drink in silence, pushing out the bond he had with Bucky to feel where he was. Which was a useless action considering there was the sound of one of his elated laughs on the stairs, followed by the murmuring of the female servant- Claire.

When they were close enough for Steve to smell them, his heart gave a soft yearning for him to be close to Bucky. Perhaps the dependency wrought by the bite wasn’t quite gone yet.

He was, as usual, wonderfully dressed, but it wasn’t the embroidered coat or the wonderful silhouette he casted that caught Steve’s attention. No, it was his eyes, which had narrowed in on the tiny vampire, his expression an odd mix of excitement, horror, amusement and curiosity.

“Who’s _this_?” He asked almost immediately, unlinking his arm from where is had held Miss Claire close to him. She cast blinking, dazed eyes before leaving the room; perhaps he had given her a dose of her ‘medicine’ before they had come down the stairs.

“James. I found him outside, wailing for his mother and father. He was half-starved.”

Bucky’s smile curled up like a fern, looking between Steve and then to James. He sniffed, and Steve could see his eyes glance to the puncture wounds in his neck, and then back to the child. “A feral baby vampire. Who created you, child?” He seemed to think something was amusing.

\--

“My mama.”

James stared into the goblet, trying not to look or sound nervous. Trying not to stare. The new vampire was smaller than Steve, but he was even prettier. He was the second prettiest vampire that James had ever seen. Nobody was prettier than Mama.

He was also much, much older than Steve. James could tell from his scent. He’d been a vampire for a very long time. He would know that nobody wanted little vampires like James around.

“Thank you,” he said softly, trying to keep his voice steady. “For being so kind to me.”

\--

Bucky’s smile grew. “Of course. It would be a pity for a vampire so young to be harmed on the streets.” Steve watched as some of the underlying emotions- the disgust and bewilderment, namely- disappeared, replaced almost wholly with _interest, want_. It was a look Bucky had given him, when they first met and Steve was nothing more than a skinny, half-starved beggar.

It was a look that moved mountains, a look that made even the smallest of bugs feel _important_.

Steve withheld a relieved sigh; it meant that Bucky would keep and help James, to the best of his abilities.

“You’re older than Steve! How old are you, child?”

\--

“Twenty-five,” James said.

He could feel his hand shake on the stem of the goblet, hardly daring to hope. He couldn’t make himself look up to see if the vampire meant what he said, or if he’d rather just harm James here, away from potential bystanders.

Maybe he should compliment the vampire’s house. Or what little of his fine clothes James could see over the rim of the cup. But what if the vampire thought that James just wanted to take his things?

“Twenty-five, sir,” he amended, ducking his head down a little lower.

\--

“And yet you don’t look a day over, what, five?” The smile turned into a grin, and Bucky stepped forward to the table, easily grabbing hold of the child and picking him up as though to inspect him.

“I think perhaps you’re the most curious thing I have ever seen. Would you like to stay here with us? I can keep you safe, keep you fed. Hopefully, keep you happy, under my wing.”

\--

James couldn’t help the little yelp that escaped him when the vampire picked him up. His face flamed, hot with the blood he’d just consumed. The vampire was offering to let him stay, and now he’d been loud and horribly behaved, and the vampire wouldn’t want him. He’d call him ungrateful and spoiled and make him leave.

Just like Mama and Papa.

“Yes.” James tried to hide his face behind his curly strands of dirty hair, tried to sound small and helpless and so very sorry. It wasn’t hard. “Yes, please, sir. Thank you. Thank you so much. I’ll be good. You won’t regret taking me in. I promise.”

\--

“Of course I won’t!” He pulled the child closer, all but pressing him to his chest in a hug, careful not to spill the mug. Steve was honestly surprised at how enthusiastic Bucky seemed; there must be something he wasn’t understanding, something he’d have to ask about later.

Bucky spun the child around as he moved, grinning still. “No need to sound so frightened. I will care for you as my own. As will Steve- He already cares for you deeply.”

Steve smiled at the two of them, nodding. “This will be your home as much as mine.” He couldn’t even think to disagree with Bucky.

\--

James stared, first at Steve and then at the new vampire. Barnes. That was what Steve had called him when he was talking to the servant. Barnes was smiling, and it looked like a real smile. A kind smile. A _happy_ one.

No one had ever been happy to see James before. Mama and Papa were used to him. They’d been excited when they first turned him, but once that had worn off, they just looked at him as their son, the same as always. And then as a nuisance.

James had only met a few other vampires when he was with Mama and Papa, and then only briefly. They’d all stared at him with shock or disgust. Or anger. Like they wanted to hurt him.

But Barnes was really smiling. It made James want to smile back, the corners of his lips tugging up. He hid his face against Barnes’s shoulder, suddenly shy and grinning, and hugging him back, careful not to spill blood on his nice clothes. “Thank you,” he said, holding tight. “Both of you.”

\--

“It’s the least I can do. Please, call me Bucky. And obviously you know Steve. You know, you’re older than Steve.” He cast a mocking look to Steve, which made him frown for a second in shock, taking in the child.

“...Not by much.” He said, after a moment, which prompted a soft and carefree laugh from Bucky.

“Not by much, indeed. Still, our little... ?”

“James.”

“Ah! James. Our little James can probably _smell_ the newness hanging off of you.” He squeezed James lightly, smiling. “He’s large, isn’t he? I cultivated his health- He was shorter than I and perhaps half his body weight, before I met him.”

\--

James lifted his head from Bucky’s shoulder, turning to look at Steve. He bit his lip, trying to imagine the new vampire looking so small and so thin. He couldn’t do it. Steve was so big and solid and warm and everything that James had needed, alone and abandoned in an alley.

“You’re very good at fixing things,” he muttered. He couldn’t imagine how Bucky had done that. He’d never realized vampire blood made people healthier. Mama had just said that it made them happy and well-behaved.

\--

Bucky laughed once more and then moved to hand the child to Steve. “I can only hope to help you in all of my abilities, is all.” He hummed, and then began to go back towards the stairs. “I’ll write to a tailor to come and fit you for clothes, and anything else that you could possibly need. Steve, please get him adjusted to the house.” And with that, he all but glided back up the stairs, each movement fluid and graceful.

Steve watched him leave before pulling James closer, rolling his eyes. “He’s quite the character, but I promise; he means well. Would you like a bath? You _do_ smell like the alley I picked you up from.”

\--

“Please.” James nodded. If his parents were still around, they’d have shouted at him for being so dirty, especially in such a nice place. But then, if his parents were still around, he wouldn’t be dirty. They wouldn’t let the things they wanted get so soiled.

He didn’t want to mess up any of Bucky’s things. And he definitely didn’t want to get Bucky dirty if Bucky wanted to hold him again. James hoped Bucky would want to hold him again. Even though it was nice to be held by Steve, Steve was so young. Steve didn’t know any better than to like him.

Bucky was different. If a vampire as old as Bucky liked James, then that meant Mama and Papa were wrong to abandon him.

The thought made him feel even warmer than the blood had. James couldn’t help smiling again, resting his head on Steve’s shoulder. If Bucky let him stay, maybe he wouldn’t even miss Mama and Papa anymore. Maybe Bucky could be his new papa.


	3. 1925

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In this chapter, ravenously wrote Brock and Lauralot wrote James and Steve.

There’s nothing to pay attention to except for the white, too white mouth grinning at him in self-assured affection. It rises in and out of focus, dark then light then red then sharp and sharp and sharper and-

Everything spins fluidly, faster and faster until there is nothing but movement, movement superimposed with teeth, a mouth, a flash of blue eyes, then yellow, the prick of a finger. Bar becomes street becomes apartment becomes bed becomes flesh.

Nothing but wide swaths of flesh, impossibly pale but spinning with light, spinning with softness and a color that shouldn’t exist. Maybe it doesn’t, maybe none of this is real, nothing but the soft and vivid dreams of a fever.

Rough hands then soft hands, maneuvering him until he’s perfect-

_Good boy_ , he hears whispered, or maybe shouted. Or maybe implanted into his mind- It makes no difference which one it is, all that matters is the words, the sentiment, which spins him even further, shivering full body as he lays bare beneath the hand that feeds, the shining mouth that provides, that gives him everything, anything.

_So beautiful_ causes him to arch for the hands, eyes fixed on the ruby red sheets- river- ocean- below him. Words don’t exist- his mouth moves but nothing comes out, and yet the Hands and Teeth still Know, still understand and provide.

Red for blood and blue for bruises and white- Oh white as he’s filled up in ways that he’s never felt before. Hands in his hair, steadying his head to look deep in his eyes and tell him how _perfect_ he is.

Nothing to do but to smile right back, to show white teeth back to the Hands and Teeth and shiver in anticipation.

A pricked hand, spinning and wavery like everything else in the room until a droplet of life falls from it, crystal clear in picture. Nothing else matters. Not even the hand. Just the drop, the drop is what matters, and all else is folly, folly and ridiculous, and his head hurts so bad until-

The red goes down, down down his throat and he falls into a lap, feels hands in his hair once more. His fingers spread through the red ocean, feeling soft velvet, satin, silk.

The spinning stops but so do the colors, and all he remembers is darkness and safety in the arms of a beautiful stranger.

\--

His head was pounding. A worse headache than he’d _ever_ had the misfortune to have. It was like a thousand hammers nailing right into his temples, right into his eyes. He groaned and stretched, feeling an odd weight on top of him.

It was too early to deal with bullshit. Probably. He honestly wasn’t sure what time it was- Everything from the past… day…. Was a blur. Brock slapped a hand to cover his eyes, trying to stop spinning, trying to get the nausea to die down.

It was _hard_ , because there was a solid weight on his uncomfortable stomach. He reached out to push and made contact with- An arm. A small arm.

He blinked his eyes open, then had to close them again because of the brightness. Once he grew accustomed, he flit them open again, staring down the long plane of his body. He was on a couch in a living room, and on his stomach sat… A child? A child with wide, deep eyes and a countenance that didn’t fit a boy of what looked like five or six.

“Th’fuck?” He tried to swat at the child, to push him off of his body. There was no way he was starting out his day dealing with some snot-nosed brat.

\--

The man’s hands were annoying, but they were weak. He wasn’t fully awake yet; James could tell that from his eyes. Daddy’s blood was still in his system as well, which would keep him off balance and even more confused than any alcohol could. And he’d had a lot of alcohol before Daddy brought him home. James could smell it.

“Hello,” he said, not moving.

\--

“Get off, y’little jackass.” He tried to push at the child again, but he stayed firmly put. And yes, Brock could tell he was weak and ineffective, but the child couldn’t be _that_ strong. Right? He had a hard time focusing on the child, just getting hazy impressions for a while as his head spun and sorted itself out.

The headache refused to go away. “ _Off_.”

\--

“You can’t call me that,” James said coldly. He grabbed onto Brock’s shirt and thought about digging his nails in. “Daddy will be angry if you talk to me that way.”

\--

“Your _Daddy_ can fuck himself.” He tried to scoot backwards into a semi-sitting position, but the room spun, and the child’s weight on his torso wasn’t helping much at all. “Get. Off. In no mood to play, kid.”

\--

_Wouldn’t you rather he fuck you_ , James did not say, because Daddy came out of the bedroom just as he was about to say it. He was wearing clean clothes. He didn’t smell like Brock did, like alcohol and sex and intoxication. He smelled like soap and blood.

“Don’t be rude to James,” Daddy said, although he was smiling when he said it. “I’d hate for the two of you to get off on the wrong foot.”

\--

Brock looked the man up and down, forcing sore eyes to take him in. That- He was familiar, and yet not, all at once. He searched his memory, and other than soft impressions- color and smell- it was hard to push any connection of the previous night to this man.

And yet he intimately knew that this was the man he was with last night. Something in Brock’s blood sang for his presence, pulling wants that he had never before had to the forefront of his mind. And those hands- He knew those hands.

“James, was it? Fine. _Please_ get off.” Maybe that would get the demon spawn to leave him be. He was already itching to leave; it wasn’t normal for him to stay at a lay’s home even _without_ a child.

\--

James scooted to the side, allowing the man room to sit up but making it clear that he wasn’t going anywhere. He wished Brock were still asleep. He’d sucked on the man’s fingers while he was unconscious, and even just his skin had tasted so good.

He was much nicer when he was asleep, too.

“I’ll make breakfast,” Daddy said, rolling back the cuffs of his shirt. “How do you like your eggs?”

\--

“....Thank you, but I have to go. I… appreciate the hospitality.” He swung his legs over the side of the couch and forced himself to lurch into a standing position, trying to _will_ the nausea and the headache to disappear. It wasn’t working. It would take another full night’s sleep to work off a hangover this bad, and clearly he wasn’t going to get that privacy in the home of some man whom he must have fucked.

\--

“You can’t leave,” Daddy said. “You’re in no state to be running around the city.”

James thought of grabbing onto the man’s leg just to make a point, but he was so unsteady that he’d probably fall on top of James. That wouldn’t be pleasant.

“You should sit down,” Daddy continued. “Anyway, we have so much to discuss.”

\--

“I’m fine. I’ve been in worst states before.” No, he really hadn’t. This was a new low, even for him. “I have shit to do today. I’ve gotta go. Again- Thanks, but I gotta decline.” This man was pushy. Didn’t even know his name and he was plopping his child on his lap and begging him for breakfast.

Brock grimaced. He really hoped the man didn’t assume that the previous night was anything more than sex and a body to lay with.

\--

“I insist, Brock,” Daddy said. He said it that funny way that always made people who’d tasted his blood want to listen. James was never sure how that worked, as he’d never given anyone his blood. “Besides, you have things to do here as well.”

Then he walked into the kitchen. Brock would follow him, James knew. He wouldn’t even look around for his shoes, which were currently hiding under James’s bed.

\--

Brock was moving towards the kitchen before he even realized it, and when he did, he just blinked, glancing behind him at the door and then at the back of the man’s head. His breast was warm, his gaze narrowing in on him. That was… Odd. He frowned.

“...I’m serious, I need to _go_.” Something felt wrong. Uncomfortable, at the very least. “I’ll be fine, and no, I really don’t have anything to do here.” The last part was rude, but his patience was just about at the end of its rope.

\--

Steve smiled. A flash of teeth. It was always the teeth that they remembered. That and that single drop of his blood.

“You aren’t going anywhere,” he said softly. Almost apologetically. There was no need to antagonize the new help. “My name is Steve. I don’t know how much of last night you recall, but in coming here with me, you’ve forfeited all your earthly attachments. Sit down.”

He set a frying pan on the stove.

\--

Brock shivered when Steve smiled at him. Something deep in his bones yearned for those teeth to come closer, for the man to wrap his hands around Brock’s waist and possess him.

He felt the urge to sit down keenly. Part of it was his own tired, exhausted and almost pained mind. The other part wasn’t him at all, and that urge frightened him. This man had some sort of _hold_ over him, and that hold felt as natural as walking.

“Sorry, _Steve_ , must have misheard you. Y’trying to imply that I’m not leaving? ‘Cause that’s not true. Now more than ever.” Even if he wanted to stay for breakfast when he had woken up, that possibility, that want, was distinctly gone.

He wanted out of this place as fast as possible.

\--

“I’m not implying.” Steve smiled, cracking an egg against the side of the pan. “I’m telling you. I will not allow you to leave this apartment, and should you try, I have your scent. I would find you, and I would bring you straight back here. Assuming I didn’t tear out your throat for the inconvenience.”

The egg sizzled against the cast iron. “You’ll live with us now,” Steve continued. “I will provide you with food, clothing, and pleasures beyond your wildest dreams. All I ask is that, in return, you care for my son.”

\--

“Yeah, figures I had to fuck the craziest man in all’a New York.” Brock snorted and promptly stood up, shaking his head. Who cares if he didn’t have any shoes on; Steve wasn’t joking, and for some reason, he was pretty sure he could actually hurt Brock. “Uh, it was probably real nice last night, or whatever, but yeah. No second date.”

And with that, he tried to walk promptly out the front door.

\--

Steve took no pleasure in dragging Brock back into the kitchen, nor in digging his nails into the flesh of Brock’s arm. These first days were always so unpleasant. If Steve could, he’d keep the nurses in a drugged stupor, high on his blood, until they lost the inclination to flee. But if they were too intoxicated to understand the requirements of their job, then they’d be nearly as useless as no nurse at all.

And so they had to suffer through this mess every time instead. It was always so upsetting for James.

“That was your first warning,” Steve told him, forcing Brock back into the chair. “Try to run again, and I will break your leg.”

\--

There was no way that Steve was human. He was way too fucking strong, and nails shouldn’t pop into flesh as easily as they did. Brock stared hatefully at Steve, clenching his jaw. “So what, you’re kidnapping and assaulting me so I can be your… Nanny? Maid? Really? Y’know, you can _hire_ people from that, you dumbass.”

\--

“I don’t need a nanny.” Steve took a spatula, carefully flipping the egg. “What I need is a wet nurse. And you’ve met all the qualifications.”

From the corner of his eye, Steve watched as James walked into the room, tugging a chair to be nearer to Brock.

\--

“A nurse. Do I have tits? Hire an actual nurse, lunatic.” He knew better than to get up again, but he was really starting to get angry.

\--

“You’re perfect.” Steve rummaged through the icebox, pulling out a bottle of milk. “You have no friends, no family, no one to miss you. Besides, James likes you.”

\--

Brock glanced to the child and then back to Steve’s back. His head was pounding, and not just because of the headache. “Why the _hell_ do you need me?”

\--

“Because the position was open,” Steve said simply. He set the plate in front of Brock. “I’ll make you toast. Do you prefer just butter, or jam as well?”

He walked to the breadbox without waiting for a reply. “I don’t see why you’re so opposed to the idea. All I need you to do is feed James. In exchange for that, you’ll have everything you could ever want.”

\--

Brock frowned and looked towards the pan of eggs. Towards what Steve was making for breakfast. It was only enough for one man. Himself. The frown deepened.

“Why can’ you make him food? And what I _want_ is to leave this damn apartment.”

\--

Steve laughed. He could hear a faint snort from James as well.

Of course, James could eat human food. Any vampire _could_. But that wouldn’t sustain him. And James tended to avoid human food in the first few days of each new nurse, to keep them from becoming confused about what he actually needed to survive.

“It doesn’t work that way,” Steve explained. “Eat. I’ll show you what I mean after breakfast.”

\--

Brock looked at him uneasily, and the flashes, images from the night before rose like bile in his mind once more. Something was wrong, past just the whole kidnapping part. He said nothing, since he had no choice to have an opinion in the matter- He was at this man’s whims.

\--

Smiling at the silence, Steve set the toast in front of Brock and allowed him to eat without interruption. James kept nudging closer and closer to the man until he was nearly sliding off his chair, but Steve only gave him a look. It was more comfortable for the nurses if James fed while they were seated on a couch. And it was more comfortable for James as well, given his tendency to doze off after he ate.

\--

It was perhaps the most awkward breakfast Brock had ever experienced, and that was counting the time he forced to play up pleasantries while a brother and sister whom he’d each fucked separately found out about the matter.

The child was more than a nuisance- Now that he knew just how fucking crazy his father was, it wasn’t hard to see the crazy already spurning behind the kid’s eyes. Like he wanted nothing more than to latch on and never let Brock alone.

His food tasted like cardboard. He wasn’t sure if it was because of the dawning horror he held, or just Steve’s cooking, but either way, he finished his breakfast feeling numb, not even anger able to surpass the careful blanket of calm that was over his mind.

“Let’s cut the bullshit.” He said after a while, glancing up from his plate to stare at the- whatever monster he was. “I’m basically your slave. Don’t sugarcoat it.”

\--

Steve only shrugged, pushing back his own chair. “I don’t plan to. It’s true that you have no choice in your role here. But I can make it pleasant for you, provided you do your job properly. And speaking of that, I think it’s time I showed you what will be required of you.”

He nodded to James, who slid out of his seat and darted for the living room. “Come sit on the couch,” Steve said to Brock. “You’ll be more comfortable.”

\--

Brock debated trying to bolt again. But. He’d seen the strength that Steve held, and there was that otherworldly grace that each of his steps encompassed. It was true, and if _those_ things were real- why would him being able to smell Brock, to track him… Why would that be a lie?

There’d be no use running. He was stuck here, utterly vulnerable to some deranged monster and his equally unhinged son.

It took him a few seconds to decide, just sitting at the table, staring into nothing. When he finally got up, it was with a sigh, his face steely as he walked over and sat stiffly on the couch.

\--

Brock had barely settled before James was situating himself on the man’s lap. Steve could see Brock stiffen, could _smell_ the increase of fear and confusion, but he didn’t try to shove James away. Good. Once, a potential nurse had tried to throw James.

Steve had made sure that one’s death was excruciatingly slow.

James had his hands on Brock’s shoulders now, nuzzling against his throat.

\--

“What- What the hell.” He blinked almost owlishly, but refused to move. He could feel the threat behind each movement from both the kid and the implied violence that every sinew of muscle that Steve owned held. The child was nuzzling his _neck_ , like a particularly hungry cat, or a starved wolf.

He remembered the flash of teeth.

“He’s a goddamn monster, too? A child monster? Fuck. Fuck, that’s fucked up.”

\--

“He’s not a monster,” Steve said sharply. He could tell by the sudden dip of James’s head and the tremor through Brock that his son had bit down, small but deadly sharp fangs piercing the skin of his throat as easily as an overripe peach. It would probably hurt the first few times- James never knew how to be soft and gentle when his excitement got the best of him, but it was all for the best, to accumulate the nurse to its new standard of living. The child looked Right suckling at the nurse’s throat, strong and purposeful, less like a child and more like the predator that he truly was, underneath the exterior.

“He’s perfect.”


	4. Chapter 4

“He needs to feed three times a day.” Steve tapped James’s shoulder, a signal for his son to pull away from Brock’s neck. “Morning, noon, and night. Stop him after ten minutes each time, unless you want to be too weak to move for the rest of the day. He gets sleepy after lunch, but don’t let him nap for more than a couple of hours. Otherwise he’ll be up all night, and you’ll be the one to deal with him.”

He’d give Brock the blood later, after James had time to get used to him. There was no sense in having the new nurse drunken and distracted for his first day on the job.

“I’ll let the two of you get acquainted,” Steve added, heading back to his bedroom. “James, why don’t you show him your bears?”

\--

Feel too weak to move? He already felt weak, weaker than he’d ever felt in his life. Every limb felt heavy and useless, and it didn’t help that the headache had turned up a notch once the child had started sucking his _life_ from under his skin. He glared daggers into Steve’s back as he walked back towards the bedroom, knowing better than to say anything right now.

He’d try and say something that hurt later, when he could figure out what it was that made Steve tick. Smart? No, not at all, but he didn’t want to make his _enslavement_ easy on the prick.

Brock looked down at the kid. Where there was marginal cuteness in his being before, he could see nothing but a disgusting predator. “So you’re latching onto me three times a day. You’re a tiny parasite.”

\--

James scowled. He toyed with the thought of clawing out Brock’s eyes. He didn’t need eyes to feed James. But then they couldn’t go on walks and Daddy would probably send James to bed without supper. Fine. James would just make sure he was very rough the next time he fed from Brock. Or maybe he’d tell Daddy that Brock hit him. Brock would be in for it then.

“Come on,” was all he said, getting off of Brock’s lap. “You have to follow me.”

\--

“Oh, I have to.” Brock snorted, but stood up with minimal dizziness anyways. “I’m _perfectly_ aware of that.” If the kid thought he was going to be a kind or a nice or even a _good_ nanny, he had another thing coming. There was nothing he wanted to do more than to _leave_ this godforsaken apartment.

\--

“These are my bears.” James kept them lined up on the window seat, row after row of glass eyes staring at Brock as he walked in. “These are what we play with if it’s raining or if I don’t want to go outside.” He picked up the bear at the end of the front most row. “This is Katherine. She’s the newest one.” Daddy had just brought her back from the toy store a few days ago.

\--

“Your dad sure buys you a lot of toys.” Brock said, raising an eyebrow at them all. He had never seen that many toys congregated anywhere except for the window of a toy shop. He supposed, though, that this kid was way richer than he had ever dreamed of being as a kid. James had probably never wanted for anything.

Spoiled little brat.

\--

“You can hold her,” James said, graciously offering the bear. He didn’t want to let Brock hold her; he still missed Katherine. She was a much nicer nurse than Brock was being, that was for sure. “But you have to be nice. She’s my second favorite.”

\--

“You can keep her. I’m good.” Did this kid seriously think he _wanted_ to hold his toys and talk to him and _play_ with him? Was he that delusional? That spoiled?

\--

“She’s named after my last nurse.” James couldn’t keep from scowling again. Brock knew that he wasn’t leaving, so being mean didn’t benefit him in any way. He must just be an awful person who wanted to act bad. “She loved to play with me.”

\--

“Your last nurse. Where is she now? Did she run? Realize what a little monster you are?” Truthfully, upsetting the kid would only cause himself trouble, but he was just… He was too pissed to care about anything the child was saying, and he wanted to _hurt_ his captors, in any way possible.

\--

James glared. He felt his eyes stinging, so he whipped his head away, setting Katherine back on the window seat and smoothing out her skirt.

“She got sick,” he said flatly. “And that made me sick. So Daddy killed her.”

\--

Brock blinked. Not only was Steve kidnapping, but he was a murderer too. A- a _vampire_ , considering their diet. “If I get you sick, will he kill me too?” His voice was almost as flat- he wasn’t sure if that would be a bad thing, at all.

\--

“If you don’t get better fast enough.” James shrugged. He picked up another of the bears, Horace. Horace had been a terrible nurse. He’d tried to cut James’s throat in the night, and Daddy had torn him into tiny little bits. “Here, you can play with this one.”

\--

“...I’m not playing bears with you.” Especially if all the bears were dead versions of the people who had previously held his title description. It felt macabre. “You can play by yourself, kid.”

\--

“You’re going to play with me. I’m the one who’s going to decide whether you’re miserable or happy for the rest of your life. Take my bear.” He shoved the bear into Brock’s hands without waiting for an answer, and then picked up the Steve Bear. Steve Bear and Bucky Bear were the only bears that weren’t named after his nurses.

\--

“I trust you can occupy yourself, kid. You can certainly reason pretty damn well.” He set the bear on the ground and promptly left the room. The kid unnerved him more than Steve, the strange disjoints in maturity fucking _freaky_. He was going to sit on the couch and try to forget about his predicament, and _maybe_ try to leave again. Or maybe not.

Right now he just wanted to lie down and pretend like he wasn’t stuck in a horror show.

\--

Steve didn’t grace Brock with the drop of blood on his first day in the apartment. He didn’t deserve it, leaving James alone and rejected as Brock wallowed in his own misery. It wasn’t until the second day, after a dinner consisting of failed attempts at conversation on Steve’s behalf, and sullen glares from both Brock and James, that Steve pricked his finger and held out his hand.

“Take it.”

\--

“The fuck?” The expletive was both at the action and at his own damn brain who- who wanted it. Wanted to lap up the blood like a ruby, suck on the finger and draw out more and more and more blood. His brain screamed that it was good, better than good, it was more important than life itself and it-

It was terrifying. He didn’t understand.

“I’m not taking your goddamn blood. You’re fucking crazy.” The headache had been worse today. He didn’t know why, but he felt sluggish and weak. Maybe it was from the feedings, but then again, Steve was feeding him _very_ well. It must be something else.

\--

“You loved it the last time you tried it.” Steve tilted his hand, letting the single drop slide down the tip of his finger, toward his palm. Then he shifted his wrist again, letting it slide back the way it came. “It would fix your headache, Brock. It might even improve your mood.”

\--

“Your blood is like a drug?” He wanted to blink incredulously, flash Steve a look that showed how _crazy_ Brock thought he was, but he- It was hard to look away from his finger, from the droplet of blood moving down the rivulets of Steve’s finger pads.

Blood as a drug made sense, though, in a way. He himself felt strangely lethargic and calm after being fed from, and it wasn’t just the blood loss, considering the kid didn’t take much. There was just something about every fiber in a vampire’s body that made its prey want to comply.

“...I’ve already-?” But yes. Of course he had. This image now was the exact same image that haunted his mind when he closed his eyes, that cropped up from his memories of the night he came here, along with Steve’s teeth.

\--

“Better than any drug,” Steve corrected. “It won’t hurt your body, merely restore the energy you’ve lost and improve your mood. It’s a better high than any drug, and a sweeter taste than any wine.”

He extended his arm, beckoning. “You laughed at me the last time I offered. But when you tasted it, you said that it was the greatest night of your life. You said you’d never be happy again without it. And I want you to be happy, Brock. As happy as you can be with us. I truly do.”

\--

He wanted to refuse, but. He was fairly certain he couldn’t. The way Steve described it… If he had to stay here, then it was better to be drugged and high and drunk, happy in ignorance, than to be fully aware of himself, fully aware of how little autonomy he had anymore.

Besides. Steve would probably force it down his throat if he refused, and wouldn’t that just be embarrassing for everyone involved.

“Fine. Don’t make me suck your finger though, c’mon.” It felt strange to do that near the kid.

\--

“What would you rather do?” Steve’s brow arched, a smile quirking up the corner of his mouth. “Tilt your head back and have me drop it in as if you’re a baby bird?”

He could nearly feel James roll his eyes, but fine. Whatever made Brock comfortable. Sooner or later, he’d crave the blood badly enough that he wouldn’t care how he drank it, anyway.

“All right. Come here, little bird.”

\--

“Just- Put it on a napkin or something. Are you _required_ to be a condescending asshole with everything you do?” His cheeks felt hot.

\--

“I simply fail to see how sucking my blood from a napkin will be any more dignified for you.” With a shrug, Steve stood up. “I’ll find a glass. Is that more to your liking?”

\--

“ _Yes_. There is nothing dignified about _any_ of this!” Brock shook his head. He wasn’t pouting, but he was near to it.

\--

Steve didn’t answer. It seemed a waste to dirty a glass with so small an amount of blood, but then, James would be happier when Brock was happier. And Steve was at his happiest when James was in a good mood and a nurse was high on his lap, warm and giggling and almost _mewling_ with contentment.

“Here,” he said. “I hope this is as _dignified_ as the circumstances allow.”

\--

Brock just rolled his eyes in response. Dignity wasn’t exactly a word anyone would use to describe him, but it was true that the vampires used an intimacy he was completely unused to. He took hold of the small glass, staring at the mere drop of blood and pooled at the bottom.

A drug to surpass all drugs. Was _this_ what caused him to completely black out the night he came here? A mere drop of blood?

He glanced from the glass to Steve, watching his infuriatingly placid face for a moment before he decided _fuck it_ , and knocked the glass back. He had to wait a long moment for the liquid- thick as it was- to fall down the rim of the glass and hit his tongue, but when it finally did, when the blood soaked in, he-

The taste itself was not what he would imagine blood to taste like. And in the seconds before he was aware of the effects, he couldn’t help but marvel at it.

And then-

The world slowed down.

Brock took a deep breath that felt more like a shuddering moan than anything, the blood working its way to his brain and body. The thoughts he had before, the _emotions_ , were gone, replaced with the sheer feeling of bliss and beauty.

Bliss and beauty caused by one single being. The blood turned over his mind, and told him, whispered to him in a soft caress of red and life, that _Steve_ was all but a god. And Steve had more blood, so much more blood within his gorgeous, beautiful, _protective_ body.

He was staring, eyes dilated, but he didn’t care.

\--

Steve had long held the impression that drinking the blood of a vampire made a human more beautiful, even before the doses of Bucky’s blood had helped to heal Steve’s sickly body. Just like that, and all the stress was gone. The shoulders rose, the eyes gleamed, and the faces staring back at him were no longer filled with hatred, apathy, or fear.

Just bliss and adoration. It was the most beautiful sight.

“You can come here,” Steve said, beckoning. “It’s all right.”

\--

He could, he could go to Steve and Steve would welcome him. His face broke into a loose smile and he got up to go over to him immediately. His steps were weak and shaky; he should be sitting or laying down somewhere, unmoving. Tucked into Steve’s embrace. Walking wasn’t good right now.

But he didn’t know where Steve wanted him, and he could feel himself frowning hard, just standing there. Unsure.

\--

Steve couldn’t help the laugh that slipped out of him. “It’s all right,” he repeated, holding out his arms. Opening himself up in invitation. “Come here. I won’t turn you away.”

\--

And that was all he needed.

He climbed into the man’s lap, absently marveling at how large he was. How large and perfect, like a solid wall. He leaned forward and nuzzled into his chest, his neck, seeking his warmth.

There wasn’t much.

But at least he smelled good. Great, even, his body inclined to move closer and closer to him. Steve was perfect and just and right and everything possibly _good_ in the world. And his _world_ had narrowed to only consist of himself and Steve.

\--

Steve stroked a hand down Brock’s hair, pleased when the man didn’t try to grab his wrist. Some humans did that. They were so pleased by the effects of his blood that they tried to steal more for themselves. But it seemed that all Brock wanted was to be held close, and Steve was happy to oblige him.

“You’ll be happy here,” he murmured, letting the man nuzzle up against him. “Just like this. I’ll see to that. Don’t worry.”

\--

A whine escaped Brock’s lips at that, needy and petulant but oh so very hopeful. Steve would take care of him, keep him happy and cared for. Would be a solid companion, where before he had had none. Not ever, not in his shit of a life.

His body buzzed in electric chills, concentrated wherever Steve was actively touching him. There was nothing more perfect than this moment.

\--

There was a faint sigh of annoyance. Not from Brock, but from James. At the edge of his vision, Steve could see his son standing up, no doubt slinking off to his room to play with his bears and books. He was never happy when Steve was preoccupied with the servants. Whether that was due to jealousy at the attention Steve was receiving or jealousy at the attention he was giving the nurse, Steve wasn’t sure. Maybe both.

Or maybe he was bothered that he’d never held such sway over another being. That his body could never lay with one of his nurses, the way Steve’s had and would.

No matter. James would come around. The initial days of adjustment were the hardest. But things always settled into place, and Brock would be no different.

“You’re all mine,” he whispered, drawing back close. “All ours. And we will never, ever let you go.”


	5. Chapter 5

It had been a week and Brock hadn’t played with James’s bears _once_.

It wasn’t fair. He played with Daddy all the time, and Daddy was the one who brought him here to begin with. It wasn’t as if James could go out and find a nurse on his own. Brock should be mad at Daddy. But no one ever got mad at Daddy; they all wanted his blood and his body and that just left James to get mad at.

But today, Brock shook James awake in the afternoon and just sat on the bed instead of storming off like usual. He was staring at the bear in James’s arms. She was golden and wore blue.

“That’s Charlotte,” James said. “She fell off a bridge by accident. Do you want to play?”

\--

“...Fine.” No, he still didn’t want to, but he knew he’d eventually be forced to play with the child at some point. Besides, the unexpected cries whenever he denied the child was getting annoying. James wanted to be his _friend_ , and maybe _friend_ in James’ mind constituted a lot less crying and a lot more ‘leaving Brock alone.’

He was finally getting energy back. The past week had been equal mixtures of headaches and shaking, losing weight steadily despite the admittedly fantastic diet that Steve had put him on. Today was the first day he was able to keep his eyes open for longer than a few hours without starting to feel ill.

He’d been so lost in his own head lately, that he almost didn’t register what James said. But after a moment, he blinked and looked at the bear again. “She another one of your nurses?” It would explain why she’d want to jump off a bridge.

\--

James nodded. He’d smiled when Brock agreed to play with him, but that was fading away now that he looked at Charlotte Bear. “She was really nice to me,” he said, sitting up. “Daddy thought she fell on purpose. But she wouldn’t. She liked me.” She _did_.

He didn’t want to play with Charlotte. That would just make him upset. James hopped off the bed, putting Charlotte back on her spot on the window seat. He picked up Steve Bear, and then another of the boy bears. Jonathan Bear, except he wouldn’t be Jonathan Bear in the game, so James didn’t bother to introduce him.

“Here,” he said, holding out the bear.

\--

Brock took the bear slowly, looking at its face for a second before turning to James. “Don’t expect much, kid. I have no idea what you do with these things.” Maybe he should; after all, he’s been watching over the child every day for a week, including when he was playing by himself.

\--

“We can do something easy,” James said. Something familiar. “Your bear...uh, he’s at a bar, okay? And my bear wants to buy him a drink.” A lot of drinks. That was usually how these things worked. James wasn’t sure exactly what drinks they had in bars, but Brock would probably say what drink his bear wanted anyway.

\--

“...Bears at a bar. This what you usually play, kid?” Sure, the kid was a monster, but that seemed. Inappropriate. Whatever. It wasn’t like he was the kid’s dad.

\--

“They’re not going to stay at the bar.” James rolled his eyes. Brock should know how this worked. Daddy said he’d seen Brock go to bars a lot before he introduced himself and brought Brock home. “They’re just going to get drunk and then go back to my bear’s house and fuck.”

\--

Brock blinked and set the bear down after a moment. “Yeah, this is fucked up. You shouldn’t know about that.”

\--

“You do it all the time!” James protested. “I can hear you every time you and Daddy fuck! Do you know how loud you are?”

\--

Brock could feel his face flush, as much as he loathed it. The kid could hear Steve fucking him. Could hear the way he went from in charge of himself and wanting nothing more than to leave, to the weak, squirming mess that wanted nothing more than Steve to wrap around Brock, to love on him. It was fucked up with just Steve doing it to him.

It was worse that the kid not only _heard_ , but would assume that that’s just a natural fucking relationship.

“We’re not playing that.”

\--

“You do it with Daddy.” James scowled. Brock hadn’t played with him all week, and now he wouldn’t even play _right_. It wasn’t fair. It wasn’t James’s fault that his body couldn’t do the things Brock liked.

“I know all that stuff anyway,” James said. “And Daddy doesn’t care what I play.”

\--

“...Your dad _should_ care. We’re not playing that. It isn’t right. What I do with Steve isn’t- It isn’t right either, but it’s.” He shook his head and stood. “That’s not something you should be _playing_ , James.”

\--

James clenched his hands tight around Steve Bear. He wanted to throw the bear at Brock’s face. If only that would actually hurt. “Why not?” he demanded.

\--

Brock was having a hard time meeting the child’s eyes, but he tried. “Because that’s not something children should even _know_ about.”

\--

“I’m not a child!” James could feel his voice rising with each word. “I’m older than you!”

\--

“Yeah, sure, you’re hundreds of years old, yada yada. You’re still like five.”

\--

“Am not!” He threw the bear as hard as he could. It still just bounced off of Brock and fell onto the floor. It wasn’t _fair_.

\--

“...Right. Totally not a kid. Totally an adult.” He shook his head. “Steve lets you play those games?” If so, Steve was worse than he thought. Sure, he cared about James, but clearly wasn’t regulating him. Unless Steve considered him more of an adult than Brock did.

\--

“He lets me do whatever I want!” James could feel his eyes starting to sting. He wasn’t going to cry, not in front of Brock. He’d jump out the window and run away before he did that.

\--

“Well, he can continue to let you do whatever you want, but I’m not helping him. Play bears like a _normal_ kid.” Not pretending _fucking_ was something to play with, or something healthy for him to think about, as a child.

\--

“I’m not a kid!” James insisted. He felt so tired now, and so angry. He wished Brock had never woke him up. Had never agreed to play. He probably only said yes so he could get to be mean about the games James came up with. “I’m not normal! Trying to pretend I am won’t make anything better.”

\--

“I’m well-aware you’re not normal, James. Even if you were an _actual_ adult, you shouldn’t be playing fucked up kidnapping stories.” He shook his head. “And you’re _not_ an actual adult.”

\--

James threw Steve Bear at Brock this time.

“I’m leaving!” he shouted, standing up and bolting out of the room. “And when Daddy comes home and finds out you lost me, he’ll tear you into pieces!”

\--

Brock sighed and laid back on the bed with a heavy sound from the mattress. He waved the kid off. “Come back when you need to eat. Oh wait, if you leave I guess Steve will kill me and you won’t have a nurse.”

\--

“Good!” James shouted. He threw open the front door and slammed it behind him, not waiting for it to close as he ran down the stairs.

\--

He let out a heavy breath when the door slammed behind James, but he didn’t move. In all honesty, the kid was probably right, except he wouldn’t be torn to pieces. Nah, that would be a gift. Death? Too easy. Steve would just hurt him, or at the very least get him high, scream at him until his drug-addled brain responded in tears and sobs, and then fucked him silly into the mattress. Great.

All because he cared just a _little_ , enough to realize that a kid talking about sex wasn’t the best thing in the world. Especially his father’s fucked up brand of sex.

\--

There was a park a few blocks away that Katherine used to take James to. She would hold his hand when they walked, or sometimes she’d carry him. She didn’t carry him a lot, though. Katherine was smaller than Brock and she’d get really tired really fast.

He missed Katherine. He didn’t understand why he couldn’t have just bit somebody else until she got better. He didn’t understand why he had to have nurses at all. Why couldn’t he just bite people and then give them his blood to make them forget?

He ran down the streets, stomach already aching. He felt so tired. But he wasn’t going back, no matter what.

\--

James had been gone for twenty minutes when Brock decided to sit up. He’d assumed the kid would walk out and return five minutes later, bawling his eyes out and screaming about how _mean_ and _rude_ Brock was for not following him, or taking care of him right, or being nice.

But twenty minutes was a little worrying.

He huffed, and went to put on proper clothes. He didn’t really wear anything but undershirts and soft pants within Steve’s apartment, considering he’d never been allowed to leave. He found a sweater and some trousers, as well as his original shoes (which he’d found under James bed a few days ago, while the child giggled and laughed at him).

Being outside was an odd experience. He was still entirely positive he was going to be punished by Steve for leaving without him knowing, and for upsetting James. The direct sunlight felt too strong, and his skin felt almost itchy. He could leave. He could run and leave and never see Steve again but-

Then he wouldn’t get his dosages. He wouldn’t get his blood and he couldn’t. He couldn’t deal with that. He needed it, now.

Brock asked a few people along the streets if they’d seen a child, most likely upset, and they pointed him in the right direction. At least it didn’t seem like he was going anywhere too complicated. He hurried up his pace, and realized the kid was running to the park. A small park, so at least he wouldn’t get lost.

“James!” He called, and called a few more times as he quickened to try and catch up to him.

\--

James could smell Brock before he heard him calling. Not just his blood; he smelled like Daddy’s soap and detergent and other things. Like the food Daddy made for breakfast before he left. Like adrenaline, a little bit.

He started running faster once Brock called out and James knew that he’d seen him. He didn’t want Brock. Or Daddy, or anybody else. Except maybe Katherine, but Katherine wasn’t coming back. And neither was Charlotte or Jonathan or Emily or anyone else he’d ever liked.

Maybe he could scream that Brock was trying to hurt him and have him arrested. Then he’d be all locked up without any of Daddy’s blood, and that would hurt so bad. But then James wouldn’t have anyone to talk to. And whoever they brought home next would be just as mean.

But he couldn’t slow down. He didn’t want to. Brock didn’t really want him back, anyway. He just didn’t want to be in trouble with Daddy.

\--

“James, come _on_ , you know I don’t have that much fuckin’ energy!” Brock shouted after the kid seemed to _speed up_ somehow. Fucking vampires. The kid probably needed to eat, anyways. So add that to the list of ‘things that make James ornery and annoying.’

“Your father will be _extremely_ upset if you keep running from me!”

\--

“He’ll be mad at _you_!” James yelled, speeding up again. Maybe he’d climb a tree. Or squeeze under a fence. Or something else impossible for Brock to do. It would serve him right.

James didn’t get to any trees, though. His foot caught on a rock by the pond. Somebody must have set rocks there to try skipping them. He fell, hitting the ground hard and feeling the rocks tear up his knees.

He couldn’t help crying.

\--

Brock sighed and caught up to the kid, scooping him up easily. He brushed the dirt and stone from his knees, clucking his tongue. He’d have to clean this up, for the _stupid, idiotic_ boy. “You wanna keep running? Seriously?”

\--

“I want Katherine.” Sometimes they used to take bread here and feed the ducks. There weren’t any ducks today; just some ugly geese, and they weren’t even snapping at Brock. It wasn’t _fair_.

It wasn’t fair that Daddy killed Katherine when she wasn’t even making James that sick. None of it was fair. And Katherine would never have sounded so mean when James was upset.

\--

“Katherine’s not here. Just me. Tough shit, kid.” He rolled his eyes. “Why’d you run here?”

\--

“Because that’s where I’d go with her.” His knees didn’t hurt that much anymore, but James couldn’t stop crying.

\--

“The… Park…? We can go to the park. Just ask, don’t run.”

\--

“You don’t want to go anywhere with me. You don’t want to play with me. You hate me.” James wiped at his eyes with his sleeve. “I didn’t _ask_ Daddy to bring you here. I didn’t want you.”

\--

“I’ll go to the park with you.” He wouldn’t deny anything that James said though; it would be a blatant lie that the little parasite would sniff out.

\--

“I don’t like having nurses!” He kept wiping at his face, but it didn’t make any difference. “I don’t want them! I just want to be able to take care of myself and have friends who don’t all hate me and wish I was dead! But I can’t and even when I really, really try it just makes me feel tired and sick! It’s not fair!”

\--

Maybe for the first time, Brock felt a semblance of pity for the child. Sure, he was a tiny dick who was the reason that Steve brought him in as a _nurse_ , but it’s not as though he asked for it. He was a perpetual five year old, under the wing of an older vampire who clearly had little to no proper morality for the human population. He was a victim, too.

Brock sighed and pulled the child closer to his chest. “Let’s go home. You’re tired and hungry.”

\--

James just sniffed. For a second, he let his head rest against Brock’s shoulder, but then he pulled away. Brock still hated him. And he’d leave, just like everybody else. Either he’d die or he’d find some way to get away, and James would never see him again.

“I’m not tired.”

\--

“Sure you aren’t, James. And I’m President Coolidge. If that’s how you wanna play pretend.” He snorted and turned to start walking back towards the apartment. “It’s okay if you’re tired. You’re allowed to say so.”

\--

James shook his head. “I don’t want to be five.” All he wanted was to be able to take care of himself. And he’d never do that if he couldn’t even stay awake through the day. “If I’m just a little kid then I’ll keep getting people like you. I’m not tired.”

\--

“But you _are_ a little kid. It’s okay. It’s better to be who you are than to act your other age. Clearly you wanna be five. Inside.” If he really wanted to be an adult, he wouldn’t have bears, or speak like a five year old. And yet, he did.

\--

 _Do not_ , James thought. But he was tired, really tired, and he didn’t want to argue. All he wanted was to go home and lie down with his bears and not _think_ for a while. All he wanted was for Brock to like him.

\--

Brock just held him closer as he walked back down the street. Sprinting after a week of little to no activity past what Steve made him do tired him out, too. All he wanted to do was lay on the couch while James fed and hopefully napped, so he could do the same.

He opened the door to the apartment and was going to crawl over and just collapse both of them on the cushion, before he noticed there was a _man_ sprawled out in nothing but some sort of robe, eating an apple. There was a record playing, the scratchy tones of a new Bessie Smith album floating through the apartment. His legs were crossed, and one of his feet was moving in rhythm of her voice singing _I ain’t got nobody, nobody ain’t nobody cares for me._

“D’ya know him?” Brock murmured, just kind of blinking at the sight before him.

\--

James blinked. He was half asleep, and all the half of him that was still awake wanted to do was nuzzle on Brock’s throat. He blinked again, looking at the couch.

James felt his face fall. He wasn’t tired anymore. “Yeah,” he said, glaring. “That’s Bucky.”


	6. Chapter 6

James’ entire body seemed to tense up in Brock’s arms the moment he saw the man. Well. Clearly he- _Bucky_ \- wasn’t a stranger. But neither was he a welcome guest. Brock blinked at the man, watching as his disinterested half-lidded eyes widened in sudden interest.

Before he knew it, the man was sitting up enthusiastically. A little too enthusiastically, if the lack of consideration for how his robe fell and moved as he fidgeted was any indication. He wasn’t a bad looking man- quite the contrary- but still. Brock would have rathered to have something left to the imagination two seconds after seeing the man for the first time.

The man grinned at Brock, his smile sharp. Ah. A vampire, then. And now that that was clear, the way he carried himself was far more predatory than any human could ever hope to. He seemed even more predatory than even Steve, each muscle coiled like a cat about to spring.

Bucky’s eyes flicked to James, sliding from person to person with a callous disinterest that seemed inherent to the man. “My dear James. Who is this?”

\--

“Brock.”

James straightened up as much as he could in Brock’s arms. He felt stiff all over. At first, seeing Bucky had made him wide awake, but his body felt so heavy. Just looking at Bucky made him feel even more tired. But if he let that show, then Bucky would tease him.

It wasn’t _fair_. He already felt bad enough and now Bucky was here and he wasn’t dressed all the way and he was giving Brock that _look_ , like Brock was something for him to have instead of James. Like it wasn’t enough that he’d have all of Daddy’s attention the whole time he was here.

“He’s mine,” James added. “We’re going to my room.” He nudged Brock’s side with his foot, trying to prod him into moving.

\--

Brock felt shivers running down his spine when the man looked back at him, up and down. It wasn’t just a look of appreciation. It was the same sort of the look that Steve gave him when he was laying bare and vulnerable on the bed, begging for Steve. But it was worse.

He grabbed hold of James’ foot to still it. “Hold on, kid. Is he _supposed_ to be here? Is your dad gonna get pissed?”

Bucky laughed, dropping his head back on the couch behind him. Was the man drunk or insane? “James… James, your nurse is even more rough and tumble than usual. Did Steve run out of options? His manner of speech is a little to wish for.”

That was an insult, but it barely felt like one. And it certainly didn’t seem as hilarious as the vampire seemed to think it was.

\--

“I’m not a kid,” James snapped, digging at Brock’s ribs with his other foot. There was a twinge in his belly when he did it because now Brock was going to be mad at him, but what else could he do? Brock was already carrying him. If he let Brock call him a kid and call the shots about what room they were in, Bucky was going to laugh at him.

James hated that.

“Steve’s going to yell at him for hours when he gets home,” he said flatly. “And then they’ll fuck a lot. It happens every time. We’re going to my room now.”

\--

Brock blinked again and set the kid on the ground. He might be tired as hell, but the little bastard was kicking his ribs like the devil he was. “So it’s normal for him to come home.”

There was another peal of laughter before Bucky stood up and moved towards the kitchen, his bare feet padding lightly on the hardwood floors. “I _do_ visit, yes. Though Steve made it difficult this time.” He grabbed one of the coffee mugs from the cabinet, his knuckles white-fisted around it. “He moved without telling me. He’ll understand how wrong that was in due time.”

He sighed dramatically and began to make coffee. Once it was brewing, he turned to James, crouching down to be on his level. “Oh, James, won’t you say hello to me?”

\--

“Hello.”

Daddy moved on _purpose_. The last time Bucky left, Daddy had said he was sick of him coming and going from their lives whenever he pleased. So he’d packed up their stuff and moved, and that’s how they came here.

James wondered if Bucky had figured out yet that Daddy didn’t bring Bucky’s wardrobe when he moved. The robe Bucky was wearing made it seem like he knew that, but James would have thought that everything in the apartment would be broken if Bucky knew that all his clothes were gone.

“Where did you go this time? When you left?”

\--

“Los Angeles. Chicago. Some of the cities.” He beamed a bright smile and opened his arms, beckoning James to come forward. And Brock thought _James_ was dramatic. “It was grand. Unlike this apartment. An _apartment_ , really? It’s so small, James. Undignified. Steve should know better.”

\--

“That’s why he picked it.” James took a few steps closer. Bucky was probably going to pick him up. He hated that. It wasn’t like when Daddy held him. It was more like James was a souvenir that Bucky wanted to show off.

He wondered if Bucky had brought any souvenirs home this time. He used to do that, but he hadn’t on the last few visits.

“He thought you might not want to stay here.”

\--

Bucky’s face distorted for a moment, before it evened out into the same placid amusement. It freaked Brock out; he was too good at hiding his emotions. “Does he not want me here anymore? You truly think Steve doesn’t want me?” He pulled the child closer, into a drawn-out hug that seemed more awkward than anything.

\--

“I don’t know what he wants now.” James stood stiffly in Bucky’s hold. He couldn’t hug back even if he’d wanted to, not with the way Bucky’s arms were around him. “I just know what he thought then.”

\--

“How long ago was ‘then.’ Not long, surely?” Bucky seemed extremely hung up on this. Brock sighed and stepped back. Did he seriously walk into soon-to-be family drama? Clearly Bucky and Steve went back far. He wondered why he was _never mentioned_ before.

\--

James tried to shrug. “Right after you left the last time.”

He’d stopped keeping track of the number of years Bucky was gone. He’d left before James had Katherine. And the nurse before Katherine, too.

\--

Bucky rolled his eyes. “Spiteful piece of shit. Don’t you worry, James. We’ll get Steve sorted out tonight. He’s been bad towards his poor maker.” He pouted. It was probably supposed to look cute, but all Brock could see was creepiness.

\--

“Your coffee’s done,” James said.

Maybe Bucky could drink that, and James and Brock could go back to his room and shut the door. Or maybe go right out the bedroom window and back to the park, so he wouldn’t have to hear all the yelling and fucking when Daddy came back.

\--

Bucky stood back up, gently pushing the child away as he went to fix his coffee. No sweetener, no, but he didn’t seem to enjoy the black bitterness. Brock frowned, but then he was speaking. “Nurse. Come here.”

Brock flicked his eyes from Bucky to the kid and back again. If this man was affiliated with Steve- no, _made_ him, he said- then he probably had to listen to him. And he really didn’t want to see the tantrum of this vampire, if he said no. He stepped over, and tried not to balk at the way Bucky was sizing him up again.

He grabbed his wrist. Brock tried to pull back, but Bucky held on tight, his nails digging in, so he stopped. No use fighting a vampire. Brock had learned that the hard way. He was quiet as Bucky pushed the cup of coffee below his wrist and then dug his nails in even harder, until they broke the skin enough to let it bleed.

Maybe he should be scared. But at this point, blood-letting had been interspersed in his mind with the numb feelings from Steve’s teeth, as well as being fed Steve’s blood. He shivered, but otherwise stood still, until Bucky deemed enough blood to have spilled into the coffee.

Bucky brought Brock’s wrist to his lips to suck off the remaining blood and lap at the wounds until they started to close up on, his eyes dilated. It was only once he wasn’t freely bleeding that Bucky stepped back to stir his coffee and drink.

Brock let out a soft sigh and moved back near James. Bucky was just another master.

\--

James fought to keep a scowl off his face, but he couldn’t completely muffle the whine in his throat. Brock was _his_ nurse. Not Bucky’s. It was bad enough that Brock already liked Steve best, and now Bucky was here to steal all the attention. And maybe to eat Brock up if he liked the taste of his blood enough.

He’d probably talk about how pretty Brock was, or how warm and nice his blood tasted, and get Brock to stare at him the same way all of Bucky’s servants always used to stare. It wasn’t fair.

“Come on,” he muttered, nudging at Brock’s hand. He didn’t tug at his pant leg like he wanted, to be sure he had Brock’s attention. Bucky would laugh at that, too. “We’re supposed to be going to my room.”

\--

“You don’t want to catch up with Bucky?” Bucky was almost too much a trainwreck to pass up seeing him interact with anyone.

\--

“Come on,” James hissed quietly, tugging on Brock’s wrist.

\--

“Tch. Fine.” Brock rubbed a hand over the path of skin on his wrist that just held Bucky’s lips. Bucky was now drinking from his cup, staring intently at Brock over the rim. He could feel Bucky’s interest in him, could feel the want.

A week ago, it would have disgusted him. As it was, he was pretty sure it would only take another week before he was a mewling, willing participant for Bucky, just like with Steve.

\--

James wanted to ask Brock to pick him up; just _talking_ to Bucky made him tired, and he was already about to fall asleep when they came in. But he wouldn’t. He just took Brock’s hand and started for the bedroom.

That was when the front door banged open with enough force to slam into the wall. Daddy. He must have picked up Bucky’s scent before he came inside.

James squeezed Brock’s hand tighter, half-hiding behind his leg.

“ _Get out of my home_!” Daddy shouted.

\--

Brock flinched before he even registered that Steve was talking to Bucky. He pulled the kid behind him further, and then kind of shrunk backwards. Perhaps going to the bedroom was a good idea; Steve looked more angry than Brock had ever seen him, and the delusional, deranged arrogance playing on Bucky’s face didn’t bode well, either.

He was pretty sure Bucky was _loving_ the anger, especially when he retorted, “Steve, love! What a warm welcome. I never got the letter in the mail, telling me you _moved_!”

\--

“I told you not to come back!”

Daddy was so loud that James couldn’t even hear himself whimpering. He felt it in his throat, though. It was so stupid; this happened every time Bucky came home. They yelled and broke things and sometimes they hit each other, but it always ended the same way. Daddy would get too mad and worn out to even yell, and then Bucky would say something. It didn’t matter what. He always knew just the right thing to say so that Daddy would give up.

Then they’d go to the bedroom and James wouldn’t see them for days.

“We’re not trinkets for you to leave on display until you have need of us!” Daddy was shouting. The door was still open. They’d never had neighbors this close before. What if they called the police? “We’re not _yours_ , you bastard! You think it’s fine for you to get bored of us, well, now I’m bored with you!”

James felt tears stinging in his eyes, burying his face against Brock’s leg. He shouldn’t be crying. It was pathetic.

But he couldn’t help it.

\--

This was less of family drama and more like a lover’s spat. A lover’s spat that had Brock’s hands shaking against his sides and the child crying at his legs. Right. That meant it was time for them to go. He wasn’t as strong as he should be; he was weak and wanted to flee. He twisted and picked James up, pulling him close against his chest. “We’ll. We’ll leave them be.”

They could wait out the fight in James’ room. He needed to eat, anyways. Sleep, maybe. If that was possible; who knew how loud Steve and Bucky would be for the next few hours. Especially considering that Brock heard the coffee mug being thrown to the ground forcefully as they left, Bucky’s voice rising to scream “How _dare_ you speak to me like that!”

\--

James was sniffling against Brock’s shoulder by the time they got into the bedroom, his breaths deep and shaky. His stomach was twisted up and he couldn’t tell if he was hungry or sick. He couldn’t be sick. If he was sick, Daddy would take Brock away and then James wouldn’t have anyone.

“I want my bear,” he managed.

He could still hear Daddy screaming about how much better off they were without Bucky.

\--

Brock unclenched and clenched his hands in succession for a few seconds, the moment the bedroom door was shut. Once his hands weren’t shaking, he went and grabbed one of the bears- one of the nurse bears. Charlotte, he was sure her name was. He handed it to the kid, then sat on the bed.

“Hungry? C’mere. Ignore them.”

\--

James squeezed Charlotte against his chest. She wasn’t the bear that he wanted; he wanted Bucky Bear. His oldest bear. The first one anybody ever gave him.

But Bucky was out there screaming at Daddy, and it was stupid for him to even want to _look_ at Bucky Bear now.

“I’m sorry,” James whispered, crawling onto Brock’s lap. None of the other nurses ever had to deal with Bucky coming back in their very first week.

\--

“...It ain’t your fault. But Bucky. He’s a real piece of work. He always like this?” Brock pulled the kid closer.

\--

“Not always.” James shut his eyes, resting his head against Brock’s shoulder again. “He used to be really nice.” Back when James first came home with Daddy. Back before Daddy told him that Bucky didn’t deserve to be called Papa. “But now...he gets sick of us, and he goes away. And then he expects Daddy to be happy when he comes back.”

\--

“...How long is he gonna stay?” Steve was enough. _James_ was more than enough. But Bucky had caused more drama than a week of kidnapping had caused in less than an hour.

\--

“It depends.” James shrugged, nuzzling against Brock’s neck. Charlotte ended up squished between them. “He stays for years. But sometimes it’s three and sometimes it’s ten. Then he gets bored.”

\--

Brock leaned back to really look at him. “...Three to ten years. You’re kidding me. I don’t think I’ll survive that long.” Between James and Steve, adding another vampire was certain to fuck up his blood levels. Not to mention he was pretty sure Bucky wasn’t _gentle_.

\--

James scooted forward when Brock moved back, trying to keep his mouth against Brock’s neck. “They won’t yell the whole time,” he muttered. “And Bucky likes to find his own food. And when he’s here, Daddy does that with him. And you’ll like Bucky more than me.” He gave Charlotte another squeeze. “Everybody likes Daddy and Bucky more than me.”

\--

“You’re helluva lot better than Steve, James. And Bucky, probably.” He huffed. He didn’t want to feed into any superiority that the kid might have over him, but it was true. At least James actually _needed_ him; he didn’t torture him and fuck him like Steve did.

\--

“My daddy’s perfect,” James muttered. Just like that, Daddy yelled from the other room, hard enough to make the window panes rattle. And Bucky was screaming right back.

James shook his head, leaning forward. He ran his tongue over Brock’s skin before he bit. That was supposed to make the bite hurt less. Maybe that way, Brock would like him.

\--

“Perfect as a parasite can be, maybe.” Brock murmured, but he didn’t say it with any venom. Instead, he sucked in a breath as the kid’s teeth pierced his skin, tense before the entire area began to numb up. It was always easier when he could focus on the numbness.

It sounded like a table broke in the other room. Maybe he’d get lucky and they’d kill one another and free Brock from this hell. But that would be too good to be true; in his fucked up world, the most solace Brock could take in it was the feeling of the kid feeding from his neck.

\--

James shut his eyes. He could feel the pulse in Brock’s neck against his face. If he pretended, he could make himself think that he heard it. That it was louder than the yelling.

It was nice, listening to Brock’s heart. It made him feel tired and full. And safe, because as long as Brock was right there, holding him, he couldn’t be alone. Sometimes it was hard to remember all the stuff he’d seen and done over the years, but he always remembered being alone in that alley.

James never wanted to be alone again.


	7. 1933

“Brock!” James hauled himself onto the bed. Brock didn’t even move. It was still early; usually Brock was the one to wake James up, and he did it later in the morning. Especially if it was after a night when Daddy had played with him like he had yesterday.

But James had woken up first today, and he’d already had time to play with his bears and draw a picture with the special pencils that Daddy gave him to keep James from stealing his. “Brock!” James repeated, tugging on his hand. “Wake up! I drew you a picture! And I’m hungry!”

\--

Brock groaned and slapped a hand to his face. It was too early for him to have to deal with James’ bullshit. “Picture on’th table, lay down t’eat.” He was going back to sleep whether the kid wanted him to or not; he’d just have to deal with a nearly unresponsive Brock.

He unbuttoned the collar of his shirt, hissing when his fingers brushed over a few deep bites from Steve that hadn’t yet had the chance to heal. The bites that were layered over scar tissue always took up to a day to scab and heal over.

\--

“But I drew it for you.” James pouted. His drawings never left the bedroom anyway because otherwise Bucky might find them and make fun of them, but usually Brock would at least _look_ before James hid them in a drawer.

It wasn’t fair for Brock to be so tired when James wanted to play. He was never tired when Daddy wanted something. Which was more and more lately, because Bucky had been spending less time at the apartment. Daddy didn’t draw pictures for Brock. He didn’t deserve all the attention.

\--

“I’ll look at ‘em later, kid. C’mere, ‘fore I turn my neck away from you.” He reached out and tried to pull the child towards him. James was just going to have to be patient; Steve was getting more and more demanding, almost frantic in everything he did, the longer that it seemed Bucky’s absences were becoming normalized.

\--

James held in a sigh. He set the paper down carefully before scooting over to Brock. Hugging onto his arm, James shifted until his mouth was level to Brock’s throat. Brock still smelled like sweat and Daddy, and it made James bite his own lip. Bucky was almost never here now, which meant he’d leave soon. And then Daddy would take up all of Brock’s attention for _weeks_.

It wasn’t fair. James felt better when it was just him and Brock, and he didn’t have to worry about how grown up anybody thought he should be. Brock liked him better when he was five, and it was easier to be five.

He shut his eyes. “Can we go to the park later?” He needed to be away from the apartment. Alone with Brock.

\--

“Probably.” Brock shut his eyes. “Steve fed from me too. Might be weak today. But we might as well today. Steve said Bucky _will_ be here for dinner either tonight or tomorrow.” He gave a shallow shrug.

\--

Good. Then Daddy would be busy tonight, and maybe James could get Brock to read to him.

Unless Bucky was only staying for dinner. Then Daddy would probably grab Brock the second Bucky was out the door.

James tried not to think about that, gently biting down. He wouldn’t take as much as he usually did at breakfast. He didn’t want Brock to be too tired to play with him.

\--

Brock tried to doze while James fed, letting his mind go blank as soon as the numbing factor of James’ bite took hold. When he first started doing this, it was nearly impossible to not think about the teeth in his neck, to focus on the sharp pain that dulled into tingling. Now, it was so normalized that he could do just about anything while James fed on him.

It was just natural. He was pretty sure if there was a day where he didn’t get fed from, he’d feel a strange absence in his life. Fucked up, maybe, but he’d long ago accepted his station in life. And well, better him than any other poor soul.

\--

James just lay by Brock’s side when he was finished, quiet and still, listening to Brock’s heart. It was really boring, but Brock was tired, and he wouldn’t want to go to the park if James didn’t let him sleep more. So if that meant sitting still for another hour and a half, then he could do that.

He was gentle when he did sit up and start nudging Brock’s shoulder. “Brock. I drew you a picture.”

\--

“Mmf? Lemme see it then.” He mumbled, and rubbed at his eyes. Thank god the kid wasn’t being an absolute terror today; he let Brock sleep and was being gentle for once. Which is what he needed, after Steve took out all his frustrations on Brock the night before.

\--

“It’s you and me,” James said, holding up the paper. And also all of the nurse bears mauling some people. James hadn’t really wanted to put in that last part, but if he didn’t, then Bucky might see the picture and laugh at him for ‘playing human.’ James didn’t know why Bucky seemed to think that wanting to make friends or be taken care of was funny. He just knew that he didn’t want to be laughed at.

\--

Brock took careful hold of the paper and blinked blearily at it while his eyes adjusted. He was always astounded at the level of detail the child could put into his drawings, surpassing that of any normal five year old’s. There were still clumsy mistakes, and it seemed as though he’d gotten too excited and hurried to color the background very well, but it was still better than anything _he_ could do.

He brushed a hand over the bears. “So, we’re smiling as the bears murder people? Tsk. We both know I’d be yellin’ at you for letting your bears be so mean.” He reached out and ruffled James’ hair anyways.

\--

James smiled, pushing up against Brock’s side. “Maybe the people deserved it,” he said, hugging his arms around Brock’s waist.

“We should go to the park before lunch,” he added. They had to vary the times they went anyway, so that the same people wouldn’t see them over and over and start to notice that James never got any bigger. Anyway, he needed to be there when he was starting to get hungry. He had a plan.

\--

“Get me some clothes and I’ll think about it.” He was staying in this bed as long as humanly possible. He’d take the kid to the park though; even if it wasn’t a weekly occurrence, James was obviously affected by Bucky’s longer and longer absences. He needed the attention.

\--

James was slow and careful when he let go of Brock, to make sure he wouldn’t accidentally crumple up the drawing or shove him. But the second he was free, he shot off the bed, grabbing clothes out of the closet and running back. The shirt still had the hanger in it. James wasn’t entirely sure these things _matched_ , but what difference did it make? “Here!”

\--

“You been outside today? Is it cold?” He sat up and placed the drawing back on the table next to the bed, then began to dress himself, careful wipe off any excess blood from his neck before he situated his collar and looped a scarf around his neck. He always wore a jacket, regardless of the weather, to help normalize the appearance of a scarf, and further hide his collar. The only difference was how thick said jacket would be.

\--

“A little.” James was busy shoving on his own shoes and trying not to trip as he stuck his feet in them.

\--

“Specific.” He’d go with the lighter one. Besides, he ended up having to chase after the kid half the time anyways, and would probably get hot in a coat. He stood and went to go find his shoes.

\--

James tried not to shake with impatience, and not to jerk Brock’s hand when he finally, finally was ready to go. He held on tight, out the door and down the stairs. James didn’t have any bread for the ducks, but there wasn’t time for ducks today anyway. He needed to talk to Brock without distractions.

“You’re my best friend.”

\--

Brock snorted, and deftly maneuvered the kid around a few people on the street. “That so? What makes me the best?”

\--

“You’re nice and you read to me and like my pictures and don’t make fun of me for being a kid,” James said. He gave Brock’s hand a squeeze. “And you’re really nice.” He didn’t say Brock tasted good, even though he did. Brock probably wouldn’t like that.

\--

“Me? Nice? I must be getting soft the longer I stay with you, huh.” He wouldn’t say it back; as much as the kid would be elated to hear that James was Brock’s friend too, it just. Wasn’t true. And keeping his distance, even marginally, was the only reason he was still partially sane.

\--

James waited. And waited. And Brock didn’t say it back.

He frowned, staring down at his shoes as they walked, and didn’t speak again until they got to the park. “I’m your friend, right?”

\--

“I’d rather spend time with you over Steve or Bucky, yeah.” But that still wasn’t an admission of friendship. And the kid wouldn’t get one.

\--

“That’s not what I asked.”

\--

“I know. But you’re not gonna get an answer, James.” No answer was better than a _no_ or a lie.

\--

“But you’re my favorite nurse,” James protested. “I like you even better than Emily!”

And he never talked about Emily. It hurt too much.

\--

“What do you want me to say, James? Even if I was your friend, you and I _both_ know that it wasn’t a friendship created from anything healthy.”

\--

But that wasn’t James’s _fault_. Daddy was the one who picked Brock out. Anyway, that was almost ten years ago. Why was he still so upset?

“Emily was my very first nurse,” he muttered. “She loved me.”

\--

“That’s good.” A few years ago, and he might have combatted the ‘love’ Emily had for James. He was just too tired and weary to care about it, now. If the kid said she loved him, who was he to say otherwise?

\--

“She said so!” James insisted, as if Brock had argued. “And I loved her. And I turned her into a vampire too, so we could always be friends.”

He sniffled, wiping at his eyes. “She _promised_ she’d never leave.”

\--

“...And she lied? She left, I’m assuming?” Is this why the kid brought him out to the park? To talk about some long-dead nurse?

\--

“She _left_!” James’s voice cracked, tears streaming down his face now. “A-and ‘cause I w-w-was the one who muh-made her, I could f-feel everything she felt before she got too far away! She h-h-hated me!”

\--

Brock opted to sit down on one of the park benches, pulling James close to him. He held back a sigh; and here he thought there wouldn’t be any melodrama today. “Sorry, James. You realize that she was a slave, right? ‘Course she’d wanna leave.”

\--

“But I’m not the one who made her stay!” James wailed. “I wanted her to be happy! And I can’t make you a vampire unless you promise not to leave!”

\--

“You know better than to do that.” He sighed. “You turn me, then Steve will need to get another nurse.”

\--

“But you hate me!” James shook his head. He couldn’t stop crying. “If I made you a vampire then you’d have all the time in the world to do the stuff you can’t do because you’re stuck here and I could go with you and we could figure out a way to eat without nurses!”

He was sick of Daddy. All Daddy cared about now was Bucky. Brock was the only one who cared about him.

\--

“Take you with me. And what, have Steve hunt us down and kill me anyways? _Then_ hire another nurse? James, I- I know you’re trying to help, or something. But let it go. This is how life is.”

\--

“I could help you get away now!” James grabbed onto Brock’s shirt, pushing his face against Brock’s chest. “Please! I could give you some of my blood so you could get away, and then I’d run away somewhere else. Daddy would only look for me. And...and I could take something Bucky likes. So he’d look for me too.”

He wasn’t sure if Bucky would even look for Brock in the first place; he might just think it was funny. But he might also decide to track Brock down just because he could.

“I--you could get really far away before Daddy found me,” James said. “Please.”

It would mean Brock would be gone, but at least he’d like James.

\--

“Just stop. Seriously, just-” Brock had given up the hope of his life being anything but the docile little blood nurse. The hope of getting out was too painful to even consider anymore. He’d given up. He shook his head. “ _Stop_. There’s no getting away from this. _Ever_.”

Not unless he died.

\--

James just sobbed, face buried against Brock’s shirt. He was shaking.

_I only want you to like me._

\--

Brock patted his back and pulled him closer. Just ‘cause he wasn’t so eager to call him a friend didn’t mean he wasn’t fond of the child. He was. James was probably the best thing of this whole situation, and he couldn’t hate James. He didn’t _hate_ him, like the kid said.

James was just a child, who was forced into doing bullshit things to survive. Honestly, even Steve got a bit of a pass, Bucky too. The blood part… They needed it to survive. They were all inherent predators, and that’s nothing that Brock or any human could do anything about.

It was the cruelty, the disregard for humanity that made Brock’s blood boil, and the kid, for the most part, didn’t really have any of that. He just wanted a playmate and a friend. And there was no way he’d ever get a human friend, and a vampire child like him was out of the question; from what Brock had garnered from sly comments from Bucky, such a thing was illegal or something. Whoever regulated that… Brock didn’t know.

\--

James wanted to pull away, to slap Brock’s hands off of him. What was the point? Brock wasn’t his friend. He was just like Emily. If he could ever run away, he would. Forever. And he wouldn’t miss James for a minute.

But James didn’t move. He was tired now, and suddenly ravenous, and he just wanted to be held. He didn’t care if it was a lie.

\--

Brock held him for a while, just sort of rocking him and hoping he’d calm down, forget about this entire conversation. Even the thought of running put him through a near-panic, the blood-devotion to Steve strong and his own body… His own body remembered the times, in the early years, when he did try to leave.

Eventually, it was clear that James wasn’t going to calm down, and their excursion to the park wasn’t going to end in any happiness, so he picked the kid up and started to walk back towards the apartment. “I appreciate it, James. Y’know? It shows that you’ve actually got some moral bone in that body of yours. It’s just not possible.”

\--

“Stop,” James whispered. He pulled on the end of Brock’s scarf. “I’m hungry.”

\--

“We’re in public, James. You know better.”

\--

“Not _you_ ,” James hissed. “I can bite somebody else. Give them my blood so they’ll forget.”

If he wasn’t biting Brock, maybe Brock would like him. And then he’d live longer too.

\--

“...Kid, that’s a stupid idea. Steve’ll be pissed. You have me. Let’s go home, and you can take as much as you want.” Was the kid just absolutely mad today?

\--

“No!” James struggled, trying to get down. What was _wrong_ with Brock? Why did he want James to bite him? “I won’t!”

\--

Brock held on tighter, grunting. “James, _stop_. Do you want _me_ to get in trouble? Fuck your stupid idea, you realize I’ll get in trouble for letting you do this?”

\--

“Nobody would know!” James wouldn’t tell. Brock definitely wouldn’t. And the person he bit wouldn’t remember. “I’m trying to help. Why are you so mean?”

\--

“Mean? Me? God, James. I know you’re tryin’ to help, but really, you’re makin’ things worse. We’re going home. Now.”

\--

James grabbed tighter onto Brock’s scarf, wrapping it around his hand. He wanted to pull so hard, to crush Brock’s throat or snap his neck. It would serve him right. If he didn’t want James to help him, then why was he even still alive?

But he didn’t pull on the scarf. He didn’t tell Brock was an asshole he was, and how he deserved everything awful that happened to him, and how James hoped Daddy pounded him through the floor tonight and made him hurt even through the haze of Daddy’s blood.

He’d find another way to save Brock, whether or not Brock liked it. He had to.


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A fantastic Tumblr anon wrote a modern day Vampire Bucky on Grindr that you can read [here.](http://lauralot89.tumblr.com/post/145472780991/on-why-one-should-never-date-overly-committed)
> 
> In this chapter, Lauralot wrote James's POV, ravenously wrote Brock's, and we each wrote Steve's.

Nobody was talking.

The only noises at the table were the forks on their plates and the crunching sounds when people chewed. James hated it. If he tried to talk to Daddy, then Bucky would probably roll his eyes and say something mean. Or maybe not say anything at all. He might just sigh and make it clear that he didn’t want to be here. That _James_ was why he didn’t want to be here. And if James tried to talk to Brock, then either Daddy or Bucky would probably snap at him.

Why couldn’t Bucky just _leave_? Why did he have to come home and pretend things were normal? They were never normal.

James wanted to throw his plate. That would get both of them yelling. And that was scary, but just sitting in silence was even _worse_.

“I hate this apartment,” he blurted out. He couldn’t help it. Maybe Bucky would agree and he’d _go away._

\--

Bucky looked up and stared at the child for a second before positively beaming at Steve, pointing at James with a jab of a knife. “See? Even your own _child_ hates this silly apartment idea. Honestly, Steve, what were you _thinking_? It’s practically claustrophobic in here, and the entire place reeks of human. I shouldn’t be able to smell human in my private quarters.” 

He _clearly_ didn’t care that he was being absolutely obnoxious, or that pretty much everyone at the table wanted him to shut up. At least, Brock _assumed_ everyone wanted him to shut up. He sat back and sighed, putting his silverware down for a moment, before Steve gave him a look that _dared_ him to stop eating. Since coming to live here, he had happily gained quite a few pounds; despite the horrific captivity, he was healthier than he’d ever been living on his own.

Not that Bucky was helping with the ‘health’ department. A few more insane words from him, and Brock was pretty sure his head would explode from pent-up annoyance and anger. He thought _Steve_ was bad; the few times that Bucky had deemed him worthy of bedding down made it clear that Steve was practically an angel compared to Bucky. At least Steve knew he had limits. 

\--

“Funny, you never minded having humans in your private quarters at the estate.” Daddy sounded so angry, and his smile looked fake. He was always like this: really cross and arguing when Bucky was here, and pacing around and taking all Brock’s attention when he wasn’t. It was stupid. Adults were so stupid. “And James loved this place when there were only three of us. Maybe _you_ made it claustrophobic.”

“I wanna live on a farm!” James said. “With cows.” If he didn’t say something, Daddy and Bucky would start yelling. And anyway, if they had a bunch of cows, he could bite them instead of Brock. Everyone would be happy.

“No,” Daddy said.

\--

“Don’t _no_ him, Steve, a farm has plenty of room! Why a farm, James?” Bucky smiled, that sharp-toothed one that made Brock want to vomit every time it landed on him. The one that made everyone in the room understand that Bucky was the one truly in charge. 

\--

“I like cows,” James protested. “And we wouldn’t have to walk to the park so people wouldn’t see me and Brock every day and maybe remember us! It’d be _fun_ , Daddy. We could have brown cows and black and white ones and red ones! Please?”

“We’re not running a farm, James,” Daddy said. “There aren’t enough of us.” He shot a nasty look at Bucky as he said it, because everybody knew Bucky was leaving.

\--

“Imagine a farm, Steve. In… Europe. We could leave the States, start over, new and fresh. Anything is better than this _drab_ apartment. No one likes a drab apartment, Steve.” Great. Once Bucky started talking, he never _quit_. So this would be the rest of the night. “There’s not even that much artwork! How dare you call yourself a modern man.”

\--

“You’d be gone the second we got off the boat,” Daddy said. “You’d say life at sea was so monotonous and unbearable and you had to go find yourself.”

“At least ten cows,” James said, but Daddy wasn’t listening to him anymore. Maybe he could get up and sit in Daddy’s lap, but that seemed like a bad idea when Daddy was this annoyed.

\--

“Ten cows is a _lot_ , James.” Brock said quietly to James. Because better to have him sidetracked with the stupid babble of a five-year old, than to listen to the babble of a five-hundred year old. 

But even paying more attention to James, even _he_ couldn’t miss the confident announcement of, “I’ll stay for fifteen years” from Bucky. 

\--

“Ten cows is perfect,” James protested. With that many cows, there would never be a chance of any of them getting sick or weak from James biting them. And Brock would never, ever have to get fed on again by James. Daddy would still bite him, but Daddy didn’t need blood anywhere near as often as James did. And then Brock would like him and be his friend. It would be great.

Then he heard what Bucky said and he forgot about cows for a minute. Daddy looked pale. He smelled hopeful, but scared too.

“You wouldn’t,” he said quietly.

\--

“I _promise_. Make it worth my while and I’ll stay longer than that.” He met Steve’s gaze head on, and well. Even Brock could see that he looked at least partially truthful. Not that that meant much, since he was insane and lied constantly. For Steve’s sake, maybe he was telling the truth. 

For _Brock’s_ sake, he hoped he was lying. He wasn’t sure he could deal with fifteen goddamn years of Bucky. 

\--

“I - ” Daddy bit his lip. He’d say yes eventually. Just like he always said Bucky could stay after they fought when Bucky came back. And just like those fights, Bucky was moving closer to Daddy now that the arguing was done. He smelled like want in the way that only adults did.

“With cows,” James said. That was important. Without cows, the whole plan would be useless and they’d have left their home with the park with the ducks for nothing. “I like the red cows best, Daddy.”

\--

“And for James, we’ll get cows. Ooh. And a milkmaid. A pretty one. To help out. And I’ll stay, and we’ll be a _family_ and they’ll be _art_ on the walls of the house, unlike _some_ barbarians’ choice of decor, and perhaps we’ll even make wine. See? We can have fun still, Steve.” Bucky said. He was grinning that sharp smile again, because he _knew_ he had won. It was obvious. His movements were getting more predatory, which was Bucky-speak for flirtatious. 

Brock sighed a little, and started to pull James close to him. “Have you finished eating? Maybe you can go draw the cows you want, so we know what to get, if we go.” 

The thought of a farm wasn’t a bad one, thinking more closely on it. The land would probably be huge, and running a farm would mean there were _duties_ and _chores_ that needed doing. Maybe enough that Brock wouldn’t think about slitting his wrists after hours of boredom in the tiny apartment. Not that he would ever be allowed to kill himself; he would know. He’s tried. 

And if there really _would_ be a milkmaid, or whatever half-baked idea Bucky had, at least he’d have company. And if not… It was still better than being cooped up while the city turned on and on in an ageless torrent of energy right outside his window.

\--

James was almost shaking with excitement. They were going to have a _farm_ and he wouldn’t have to bite Brock anymore and Bucky would stay so Daddy wouldn’t be sad. Everything was going to be perfect. And maybe they could have ducks too. Or chickens. Or all the other animals that Brock said wouldn’t be happy in apartments.

He nodded. Coloring cows would be fun, even if he really wanted to start packing right now so they could leave for the farm.

\--

“Good. Let’s go.” He stood and hefted the child up into his arms. Steve glanced his way but didn’t even growl at him to finish the last morsels of his food like he normally did, so clearly he was distracted. He kept glancing at Bucky. Brock wished he could snark at them to clear the table before they christened it, but it would be on deaf ears, if not worse. 

\--

Brock hadn’t even carried James all the way out of the room before Steve felt Bucky’s hand slip below the waistband of his pants, but he couldn’t bring himself to care. He could never care as much as he should with Bucky, or at least never act on it. Bucky was his sire, his _creator_ , and no matter how many years or miles or betrayals lay between them, the single smile, the softest touch, melted Steve’s reserves away and made him yearn for more like a starving dog begged for scraps. Whatever thoughts he had of muttering an admonishment were gone as quickly as they appeared, and he shifted closer to Bucky, now perched on the edge of his chair.

The shivers that could be emitted from just light touches, barely even there, from Bucky were ridiculous. Sometimes all it took was that one touch to make him melt and fall into Bucky’s lap, and as the hand moved expertly to touch, to grasp, he couldn’t help the moan that escaped his lips. Steve watched as a smile lit up on Bucky’s face, and then the hand was gone. Before he could protest, he was being pulled into Bucky’s lap easily, getting settled easily, like this were his throne. 

His mind slowly dissolved into a mess of half-pleas and love for Bucky, soft and blanketed easily. On one plane of his mind, he knew that Bucky was influencing him, but he didn’t even _care_. All the anxiety, the panic, the mind-numbing _anger_ washed away with each press of fingers down his chest, or clever kiss behind his ear. 

“Stay,” Steve whispered. Gasped, really. He let his head fall against Bucky’s shoulder, feeling the pulse of Bucky’s throat against his cheek. He wanted to bite down, to pretend he was still young and weak, in the days when Bucky had seemed like an angel from heaven and Steve had believed it without question when this savior said Steve meant the world to him. “Don’t leave me again.”

“I promise you fifteen years. And my eternal love.” Bucky replied, and Steve felt each word like a needle of heroin, so exquisite. It was too good to question, bursts of pleasure that had been missing for so long that he didn’t even care if they were artificially manufactured by the fucked up bond that he held with Bucky. He was kissed senselessly for a few moments, and then Bucky continued. “The farm is a good idea, Steve.”

“Yes,” Steve said. Not because he thought it was; he wasn’t thinking at all. He couldn’t, not with Bucky so close, paying him more attention in this instant than he had combined over the last few years. One kiss from Bucky and Steve was as bad as one of the nurses, desperate to be touched and reassured. Only he didn’t need the high from the blood. The bond between them was intoxicating enough. He fumbled clumsily with the buttons of his shirt, struggling to get it off. He wanted every inch of his skin to press against Bucky’s, as if he could soak up the affection he desired. “It is. You’re right.”

Steve watched as the grin on Bucky’s face grew. In another hour, perhaps the smile would read as dangerous, deranged, dark. But right now, a smile leveled at _him_ could only be good. Could only mean that he did well. His fingers skipped a beat in the unbuttoning process when Bucky leaned in to nuzzle at his neck. Steve lifted his head in compliance immediately, baring his throat to his maker, his eternal creator. He would let Bucky do whatever he wanted to do to him, whenever. Even when he argued, even when he foolishly ran or screamed; he would always welcome Bucky back, and do anything he wanted. 

“Perfect.” Bucky murmured into the curve of his collarbone, lips upturned. Steve couldn’t tell if he was saying this to _Steve_ , or towards Steve’s acceptance of the plan. His mind was too fuzzy.

There was a soft scrape of teeth against his throat. Steve shuddered. There were no words to describe these moments: when his sire was happy, the rest of the world fell away. Every nerve was alight, every thought dulled. He didn’t need to think, only feel.

Which is why it took a moment to realize that Bucky was tilting Steve back, pressing against him until he was nearly lying on the table. “The plates…” Steve managed. They’d make a mess.

“They won’t hurt you. I’ll be gentle, my dear.” Bucky murmured, as he began to kiss against his neck, periodically leaning deeper to suck at a shallow wound he had made in Steve’s neck. Steve was pushed back further, until he could properly lean across the table, his legs just managing to touch the ground. Bucky moved them open so he could stand between him, completely leaning over him.

They’d probably have to take a shower when all was said and done, but Steve might be so pliant by then that it would only lead to more sex. 

Distantly, he heard something shatter against the floor. A wine glass, most likely. Bucky wouldn’t care if anything was stained. To him, home was already an ocean away.

For Steve, it was right here.

He wrapped his arms around Bucky, pulling him closer. It made him lose his balance and send them both onto the table, Bucky on top of Steve, but he didn’t care. It felt like he was small again, back when Bucky towered over him. When his eyes never strayed from Steve. He tried to kiss Bucky, but Bucky’s mouth was still at his throat, so he settled for nipping at his ear, hands fumbling with the waist of Bucky’s pants.

Bucky laughed against his throat and maneuvered his body so Steve would have an easier time unbuttoning him. When he had the leverage to do so, he did so with fervent fingers, needing him, all of him. Regardless of any fight, Bucky always made him feel better afterwards, and it was time for that, time for him to love Steve, to cherish him as he used to. 

Steve’s own pants were around his thighs and he couldn’t remember who had done that, Bucky or himself. It didn’t matter. He wanted Bucky, needed Bucky. Needed him to know how much Steve loved him, how he’d do anything to keep him here.

As quickly as Steve had pulled Bucky onto him, now he began shifting - every brush of their bodies was ecstasy - to free himself. To kneel before Bucky and show him the pleasure that Steve could bring him. Would bring him, as long as he stayed.

The pleased ring of laughter was like a symphony to Steve’s ears- he had done well. Bucky _approved_ of this, wanted this. He could show his appreciation to him, the way that Bucky would understand. He moved closer and glanced up, right when Bucky sat up. Their eyes met and Steve maintained eye contact before leaning forward and licking at the head of his erect cock. Bucky didn’t shiver- he would hardly react, at first, Steve knew, but he’d work up to it. Would wreck him in all the ways that Bucky wanted.

_I’ll be perfect_ , Steve thought. He didn’t speak it because his mouth was busy. Bucky could feel the emotional equivalent of his words anyway. That might have been humiliating in other circumstances, but Steve couldn’t care less about his own dignity now. _I’ll be everything you could ever want. I’ll make you happy. I’ll make you content, I swear it_. He felt Bucky’s hand wind through his hair, heard the faintest moan, and smiled as best he could at the moment. _I won’t fail this time. You’ll love me again, like you used to. You’ll love me enough to stay forever_.

Having to crane upwards in this position would wreak havoc on even his supernatural knees, but it didn’t matter. All that mattered was pleasing Bucky, showing him how much he appreciated him staying, him trying, him… _loving_ Steve, in any capacity that he deemed. Any attention from Bucky was good attention, and in return, Steve would give him the _best_ attention and devotion he could. Even if that meant having Bucky’s cock down his throat every night, to show him how much he cared.

_I’ll give you anything_. Steve felt it more than he thought it, a rush of longing that he couldn’t contain. _I’d give you all my blood, I’d let you drain it if you ever asked. I’d leave all this behind_. He was seeing stars, although his hands were clamped on Bucky’s hips, providing no stimulation to himself. It was all Bucky. Being near him. Basking in his love. _Just the two of us, forever. You’d only have to say the words_. It was blasphemous to say. Steve would hate himself for it when he was back to his right mind, but for now the heresies felt like salvation. For now, the rest of the world could rot away. Damn them all when Bucky was here.

**Author's Note:**

> Check us out on Tumblr: [Lauralot](http://lauralot89.tumblr.com) and [ravenously.](http://buckycurtis.tumblr.com)


End file.
